


Long Weekend

by HigherMagic



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alpha Rick, Alpha!Rick Grimes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Daryl, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Infertility, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Daryl, Omega!Daryl Dixon, Outdoor Sex, Rickyl Writers' Group, Self-Denial, Self-Lubrication, Top Rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world that has gone to shit, the biggest threat other than the Walkers are the Alphas. Under extreme stress mated Alphas can be triggered into a feral frenzy. Daryl thought that if he refused to let Rick mate with him, he could keep Rick safe. He was wrong. Now, Rick's been triggered and the group need to figure out a way to save him from going completely feral because the only other option is to put him down, and Daryl will not let that happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of fudged the timeline a little bit and the canon events a bit more. The herd never pushed them off the farm, Sophia died, Rick didn't fight so hard to keep Lori and she's happily with Shane now and just starting to look pregnant, and Glenn and Maggie are together, and Dale is alive.
> 
> There are going to be two parts to this story, hence the rating and the UST tag. The second part will have all the good stuff, promise.
> 
> Thanks to Benny who always shamelessly encourages me and yelled at me for randomly dropping this fic into his inbox.

Daryl lifts his head when the front door opens, letting Lori inside. She has just started to show, her stomach a little more rounded under her loose shirt in a way that only the pregnant or the especially malnourished can have. He kind of hates that it could be either way; he would have needed to guess, except that the scent of her has already started to change, mixing and merging with her new Alpha and the life they'd created growing inside.

She stops when she sees him, her eyes wide and sad. He already knows, but he still has to ask; "How is he?" His voice is lower, rougher than it usually is. He can't even remember the last words he said – maybe it's been days. Since it _happened_. Who even knew anymore?

She shakes her head, greasy brown hair swishing in waves. It's moved past the point of dirty now, has a sheen that catches sunlight and makes her skin look tanned and vibrant. _The glow_. Daryl has never seen a woman take so well to it. He hopes she will take a shower after she's done talking to him. She needs to be clean, to prevent infection, needs to take care of herself and her baby.

"No change," she replies, coming over and pulling out a chair. The inside of the Greene house is too pristine, even if there are now marks in the carpet from muddy boots and small spattering patches of blood that washing couldn't get out. "Can't hear him anymore, but I can – I can _feel_ it. He's asking for you."

Daryl knows. He closes his eyes, tilts his head back and breathes out to the ceiling, and wishes more than anything that they'd managed to find cigarettes on the last supply run. He'd smoke them until he felt almost high, the nicotine hitting his body hard because his body is starving for it. It would send his pulse racing and make his breaths slow and deep and even.

"I can't," he says, quietly. She opens her mouth to protest, he knows she wants to, but nothing comes out. "I can't."

He doesn't know what else to say. How can he possibly put into words how he's feeling? The guilt, clawing at his throat, the anger and impotent outrage that something as pure and good and _wonderful_ as Rick could have fallen like this, snatched away from him just as Daryl had started to open himself up, to love the man. How can he possibly describe the _need_ , an ache down between the scars in his stomach, to go to his Alpha and fall to his knees and worship him like their kind demands when it's just an Alpha and Omega bonded together against the world and all its obstacles?

He wants to go to Rick, more than he wants cigarettes. If his body is starving for nicotine then it's _ravenous_ for the Alpha, and his hands shake when he lets himself think of how Rick had sounded, feral and wild, howling for him in the middle of the night.

"I can't," he says again, and this time maybe Lori understands, because she just nods and sits with him in silence.

 

 

When the world went to shit, it wasn't just the Walkers that people needed to be afraid of. Before the apocalypse, things like this – things that were happening _right now_ – were stories told quietly, between gossip circles. They were things that happened in war-torn countries, in the sticks, where the people were crazy and the land was crazier.

They were ' _Oh, that poor boy_ ' and ' _I can't imagine_ ' and ' _Place like that, I'm not surprised_ '. They weren't things that happened to _good, decent people_.

There are the Walkers now, and then there are the Alphas in Rut. They don't put a name to them because they're still people. They're _dangerous_ , but they're still people. They _have_ to be.

The world is divided. It always has been. There were men and women. Alpha men and Omega men. Now there are the living and the dead, those Alphas that are in Rut and those that are not.

Alphas in Rut are feral. Something in them snaps – they lose it and go into a rage so fierce and consuming that they can and will kill anything in their path that is perceived as a danger to them. Sometimes it's a stranger with a gun to their head. Sometimes it's a wild animal in the woods. Sometimes it's their mate.

Daryl bites the inside of his lip, his fists clenching. Rick shouldn't be Rutting like this. Daryl remembers – remembers how it had felt to have Rick push against him, his hands huge and warm on Daryl's neck, pinching his nape like a collar. Daryl remembers how it had felt to have that Alpha's eyes on him, hands on him, teeth scraping the edge of his throat.

But _no_. He'd pushed Rick back, swallowed hard, said ' _We can't mate. You mate, you Rut. I ain't losin' you like that_ '. Only mated Alphas Rutted, so if they didn't mate, Rick would be safe. It would be Hell, both of them fighting against something as powerful and old as time and ocean tides, but it would mean Rick survived. That's all Daryl could ask for.

Until it hadn't been enough. Until Rick had snapped anyway.

Daryl doesn't know what triggers it, what had triggered Rick. Andrea with her damn rifle, maybe, almost putting Daryl down right in front of Rick and Shane – maybe seeing the scars when they'd hauled him back to Herschel's house. Daryl doesn't know, but he blacked out with everything right with the world – because it would be okay as long as Rick was there – and then he'd woken up to everyone with tight lips and narrowed eyes and tense shoulders, and screams unlike he'd ever heard since childhood breaking through the stillness.

The voice of an Alpha compels obedience, women and Omegas helpless but to obey. Daryl remembers rushing out to the barn where they'd slaughtered all those Walkers, the barn that now held Rick inside. He remembers yelling for Rick before Shane and T-Dog could haul him back, and remembers the red in his mind that had hissed that they _weren't_ his Alphas, they shouldn't be touching him.

Then a growl, like a prowling tiger, stunning them all to stillness. The barn had been barricaded once more, but Daryl could see Rick through the slats, the soft yellowy light of a lamp illuminating his silhouette through the cracks and breaks in the door and the walls.

" _Daryl_ ," he'd snarled, the word snapping across the space between Daryl and the barn like a whip, wrapping around Daryl's neck. His knees locked to keep himself falling to them. " _Come here_ , Daryl."

And Daryl had fought. He remembers fighting because T-Dog has a bruise on his face now from when he'd swung too hard, and he knows Shane almost got a knife to the gut for his trouble trying to restrain him.

"It's not him, man!" T-Dog had yelled. "He's Ruttin', that isn't him. He'll kill you!"

The door had buckled. Daryl can imagine Rick – _has_ , so many times – throwing his whole body against the strong wood, bloodying his hands trying to claw his way out. "No! He's mine! _Bring him to me_!"

And Daryl remembers that order, right down in his soul, he remembers it and still feels the urge to obey, but now they have him on twenty-four hour watch, they have an Alpha guarding Rick at all times. Daryl remembers: even Shane's head had ducked in instinct at the force of the order, before he'd recovered and hauled Daryl back the rest of the way to the house.

They can't lose Rick. They _can't_.

He's not _an_ Alpha. He's _their_ Alpha, their leader, and already has a strong heir to carry on his line. He is a man meant to survive and strengthen the gene pool, and wild and dark enough to exist in this dog-eat-dog world now. They _can't_ lose him. _Daryl_ can't lose him.

At some point Shane, Dale and T-Dog had gone into the barn, their faces set, with rope and what looked like a thick stick between them. Daryl had watched them go in; his shoulders tight with the urge to run in after them; obey his Alpha and stay by his side, where he _should_ be. After they'd been in there – ten of the longest minutes of Daryl's Goddamn life – they'd come out, stick- and rope-less. Rick's screaming had stopped after that.

"Can't risk him drawin' Walkers," Shane had said.

"Or other Rutters," Glenn added with a nod.

Daryl knows what they were really saying. ' _If Rick keeps talking, we're all fucked_ '. Because even Shane knows that Rick is their Alpha, that Daryl and Lori and Glenn and the Greenes will follow him into Hell if he asks. Shane's a good second Alpha, would do okay if he had his own pack, but this is Rick's pack now and if Rick had kept _howling_ like that, they all would have eventually caved and obeyed him. Such is the way of things.

 

 

Rick doesn't howl anymore, doesn't scream, but Lori is right. Daryl can _feel_ his desire, his order, deep in the pit of his heart when he walks out of the house and towards the campsite. He feels Shane's eyes on him from where he is by the barn and carefully doesn't look that way. He knows if he even catches a glimpse of Rick, prowling and waiting for him, he'll run straight through the damn wall if he has to and then they'll have to put _both_ of them down.

He didn't used to be like this. Before Rick, before everything, Daryl had no interest in Alphas _or_ women or really much of anything. He had his scars and he had his crossbow and that's all he'd ever needed. He'll admit he had thought about it before, but never with much effort or detail, and he hadn't even flinched the night when he was eighteen, freshly presented as an Omega, and dug his own knife carefully into his stomach, tense and mindful, until he was sure he'd fucked himself up so badly that he'd never run the risk of getting pregnant and bringing another generation of shitty Dixon existence into the world. He had been sure at the time that Merle would do enough of that for him.

Even when Rick had shown up – well, Hell. Daryl knows how it really went. He can tell himself whatever he wants, but he knows. One look into the powerful Alpha's eyes and he'd been gone. Straight to Hell and back, he'd follow Rick. He'd stayed by the man while he figured out that his mate had been fucking another Alpha behind his back, he'd watched Rick sort through it, even watched the fight that had broken out between him and Shane, both Alphas snarling and rolling with their teeth bared and their eyes red.

But it hadn't mattered. Rick had let Lori go, because on top of everything else, of _course_ he's a damn decent man and not even the Alpha drive to protect and claim what was _his_ was going to make him stop Lori and Shane. Part of Daryl used to think that it was because Rick had already gotten a child out of her. Alphas want to mix their DNA into the gene pool as much as possible, widen their circle of influence in their pack. It made _sense_ , especially now with the population dwindling down to nothing.

What _doesn't_ make sense, then, is why Rick has chosen Daryl. Why Rick slept near Daryl's tent, why he sat by Daryl around the fire, why he is so concerned when Daryl leaves on his own, why he'd _snapped_ so hard that he'd Rutted. Even Shane, with all his temper and jealousy and _fire_ , had never Rutted like this that Daryl knows of. In fact, none of the pack seems to remember actually facing a Rutter back when the world was civilized.

Daryl is infertile. He can't give Rick an heir, even now when part of him curses his eighteen-year-old self for being so stupid and senseless because part of him wants more than anything to be a perfect mate for Rick. But he can't. It's not the Dixon way, submitting and spreading his legs and rearing pups. Dixons aren't _Omegas_.

Daryl sighs, finding that he'd gravitated towards Carol's tent without thinking about it. The woman isn't there; he can't hear her rustling around inside, which means she's probably by one of the wells. He follows his nose and the tracks he can see through the grass and finds her scrubbing at -.

He swallows. It's one of Rick's shirts, bloody around the collar and the wrists. He doesn't want to ask but he must make a sound because she looks up. Her cheek is still slightly green from a bruise Ed gave her before he became Walker chow, and it makes her eyes glitter. He hates the discoloration on her face.

She offers him a small, tentative smile. He hasn't been the kindest to her, not since losing Sophia, and there is a hard lump in his throat now because he _knows_ she understands and doesn't even hate him for it and that in itself makes as little sense as Rick does. "Wanna make yourself useful?" she asks, her tone light but firm, meaning ' _Come sit down_ ' and Daryl nods, walks over and sits down with his legs crossed comfortably, and busies himself handing her more dirty clothes as she scrubs them against the washboard.

They sit in silence for a while. The silence is companionable – not charged like it is with Rick, or solemn like with Lori and Glenn and all the others. Carol is probably the closest thing Daryl has ever had to a best friend.

His attention is drawn by a change of the guard, Shane swapping out with T-Dog with a firm clap on the man's shoulder. Shane takes one long look around, nods in Carol and Daryl's direction as though confirming that they're far enough away not to make trouble, and then disappears into the house where Daryl left Lori. They're probably going to fuck again. Daryl snorts, shaking his head.

"It ain't right," he says, finally breaking the silence when it feels like the air is being crushed under the weight of the grey clouds above them. It really is a beautiful day, bright blue on the horizon, the clouds warming the air instead of promising rain. It'll be winter soon but autumn is still hanging on tight by the nails and is reluctant to let go, and Daryl likes days like this.

Carol gives a soft hum. "None of this is fair, Pookie."

"Ain't talkin' about _fair_ ," Daryl says, spitting the word and handing her another shirt – Shane's this time, he's relatively sure, and thinks it's kind of fucked up that Lori's not the one doing her Alphas' laundry herself. "It ain't _right_."

He knows he's not making sense, and hates the thought that Rick would know _exactly_ what he means.

She remains silent for another moment, her hands moving slowly in the bucket of water, rinsing out the shirt. "You know," she says quietly, "you're too young, really, but Rutting didn't always used to be a stigma."

Daryl raises his eyebrows, biting the inside of his lip. "That so?"

"It used to be about…passion," she confirms with a nod. "It's the Alpha version of a Heat, really. It's just that sometimes Alphas don't come out of it." She looks down at her knees, sighing. "Ed Rutted with me once. It was actually how we conceived Sophia."

Daryl blinks at her. "And he came out of it?" he asks, because if an asshole like _Ed_ could…

Carol lifts one shoulder, her lips curving into a small, sad smile. "Not completely," she admits. "I mean, he was always…like he was, but I think the Rut damaged him even more." She takes a deep breath. "I'm not making excuses for him. I know he was a bad man and I'm thankful that he's gone, but I wanted you to know that…that Alphas _can_ come out of it. That it doesn't _have_ to be a death sentence."

Daryl gives a small huff, turning his head away again and lifting his thumb to bite at the cuticle.

"And, just between us," Carol continues, her tone playful and teasing now, "Alphas are sexy as Hell when they're Rutting. I imagine for Omegas it feels even better."

At that, Daryl can feel his cheeks flushing a bright red. "Stop it," he bites out, keeping the smile from his face but unable to hide it from his voice. Carol smiles at him and reaches out for another shirt to wash.

Oh, Daryl has thought about it. Rick is the first person, Alpha or woman, to make him feel that deep-seated, aching _need_ that he has come to equate with sexual desire. And that one time when Rick had pushed him against a tree and Daryl had pushed right back, saying _No_ but screaming _Yes_ in his mind so loudly it was a wonder he could think, he remembers how it had felt, remembers his body lighting up from the inside, sparks flying between their skin, Rick's eyes dark and hooded and promising all sorts of things if Daryl would accept.

And how he wanted to – _wants to_. He wants to know what it's like to lay under Rick, palms and knees to the ground and feel his Alpha mounting him. Bites are dangerous now, but when he thinks about it he can't imagine anything but heat. Carol had called it passion. It _is_ passion. It's the desperate ' _I need you_ ' and the relieved ' _I thought you weren't coming back_ '. Try as Daryl might, he can't ignore the fact that any of them could die at any moment. The quarry had taught them that the hard way.

But Alphas can come out of it. They _can_. They _have_ to.

"How'd it end?" Daryl asks when the laundry basket is empty and Carol is putting the full one inside of it to walk over and start hanging up the clothes. "The Rut. How'd you get it to end?"

Carol blinks, her eyes taking on a faraway look, her brows coming down. Daryl doesn't want to make her think of times with her husband, but damn it, this could _save Rick_.

"It was such a long time ago," she says slowly, putting a finger to her mouth and tapping on her upper lip. Daryl just barely manages not to make a sound of frustration. Then, she shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Pookie. I honestly don't remember anything specific. I just…one day his eyes weren't red anymore, and he seemed very… _satisfied_." She shrugs one shoulder. "Ruts used to be because an Omega had gone into Heat, so maybe it was because I'd gotten pregnant and some part of him could sense that. I'm not sure."

Daryl swallows, lowering his head. He doesn't acknowledge Carol as she leaves him with a soft, reassuring pat on his shoulder. The sun is just starting to set, and it's the magic hour now where everything is hazy and yellow and the day just starts to become dangerous. Daryl should go back to the camp where there's safety in the pack and he can pay attention to everyone's breathing and keep watch.

He reaches down between his crossed legs, pulling at some grass and shredding it between his fingers before letting the light breeze take the shards away. Ruts were for conception – well, that made sense, he supposes. He's only been through one Heat in his life, the one that had basically fucked him, but he remembers the insatiable _need_ , the desperate drive to find an Alpha to mate with and conceive with. An Alpha would need _something_ to keep up with that frenzy.

Daryl doesn't remember his Daddy Rutting, and Merle never has. Only mated Alphas did, though, so he supposes he never would have seen it. Maybe it's not real Rut, then, in this world, but something else – the feral Alphas they come across don't seem to have much interest in anything other than killing, and definitely not sex. Maybe Rick isn't really feral like they are. Maybe he can be saved.

But not by Daryl. Daryl can't get pregnant because he fucked himself up and he doesn't even go into Heat anymore. He can't keep up with that kind of frenzy. He barely even gets wet – not even Rick, with all his heat and that low, rumbling voice that could make mountains shake had made his body react the way it was _supposed_ to.

But the only alternatives are…God. Daryl immediately discounts Herschel, T-Dog, Shane and Dale. Too old or too Alpha. Lori is already pregnant and like Hell will Daryl risk putting her in harm's way, on the small chance that it _is_ Rick's child. He will _not_ be responsible for the death of his Alpha's children – and maybe in this state, Rick would know if the child was his or not, and the outcome could be disastrous. Beth is too young, too soft – she'd be ripped to shreds. Maggie and Glenn are mated now and that just seems unfair to ask. Patricia still stinks with loss and wouldn't make a particularly good option.

…Andrea or Carol, then.

The thought of either of those women in there with Rick makes his skin crawl with discomfort. Not just for their sakes, either – the thought of their hands on _his_ Alpha, of touching him and kissing him and hearing him come, having his seed _in them_ , carrying _his_ child, makes Daryl so violently, _angrily_ nauseous that he has to take a deep breath to calm the rolling possessiveness in his gut.

The echo of _mine_ wraps itself up in all the rest and Daryl exhales, forming his mouth in an 'O' like he's blowing out cigarette smoke. He _has_ to try. Even if it kills him, even if they have to put Rick down – it'll be okay because Daryl will have tried, and if Rick is dead that means Rick killed him and he won't have to face the failure and the loss of losing his Alpha.

_We can't mate. If we mate, I'll lose you_.

God, he's such a selfish idiot. He'd thought he was doing the right thing, even when every part of him wanted to pull Rick in, learn the shape of Rick's mouth with his tongue, memorize the taste of him and the feeling of Rick's nails in his back, the way his belt buckle caught on Daryl's stomach. He had wanted that with a gluttonous need that reminded him of starving wolves carving their way through a deer's stomach, of lions fighting for their right to mate.

He had wanted to see the thin streaks of red that appeared in an Alpha's eyes when they were aroused, wanted more than anything to feel his own eyes burn and itch when the gold of an Omega fights its way through in answer.

He _wants_ it. Wants the red in Rick's eyes and Rick's teeth in his neck and Rick's hands on his hips, nails down his spine. And after that, he wants the softness – the gentle blue of morning skies and kisses pressed to his nape and his hair and hands squeezing his shoulders, that rumbling voice calling his name.

Daryl closes his eyes and shifts so that his knees are up and he can brace his elbows against them. He runs his hands through his hair, wincing when his fingers catch on knots at the ends, and breathes out another smoke-less breath. He doesn't say anything, and although he can hear it he doesn't lift his head to watch Dale take over from T-Dog guarding the barn. He feels the pulse of Rick's desire, silent but strong, echo through the camp as the Alpha is roused by the noise, feels it deaden into a dark anger at being denied.

Rick can come out of it. He just has to be given what he wants. For whatever reason, he's decided that what he wants is Daryl.

And if there is even a sliver of a chance save him, Daryl _has_ to try.

 

 

It wouldn't be hard to sneak into the barn, but Daryl knows that's not the smart way to play this out. Even if he did get in and managed to figure out what he needed to do, the noises would undoubtedly draw someone and he does _not_ want to be caught halfway in the middle of…whatever.

He has to play this carefully, suggest it to the group in a way that means they'll _have_ to accept it. He knows that he's not really one of them, not yet anyway, and they only value him because he's a damn good hunter and keeps them fed and has killed just as many Walkers as the rest of them, but he's not _family_. He needs to offer this in a way that makes him clear that there's a chance to _save Rick_. They don't need him, but they need Rick.

Herschel allows them all inside for dinner that night, even taking Dale off guard duty for a while so they can eat. Dale assures them that he hasn't heard anything. Rick must be asleep, and when Glenn climbed to the top window of the barn in the hayloft he'd confirmed Rick had still been inside, and Daryl guesses that as long as he's within _someone's_ sight they're safe.

It's kind of bullshit that they think they need to watch him, but he can't fight the glaring facts of biology – Omegas are built to bond with and obey their Alpha. No one knows that he and Rick aren't mated, haven't fucked – it doesn't matter. Rick is asking for him, Rick is _Rutting_. He's sure they've all made their own assumptions.

They talk about other things, _stupid_ things, and it makes him want to scream. They talk about building another well that's not gross with bloated Walker, they talk about how delicious the chicken is, and they talk about whether Lori needs more prenatal vitamins and if Beth had ever taken singing lessons.

Daryl clenches his fist so tightly around his water glass, eventually the poor thing just shatters. "Fuck," he mutters, but doesn't do anything except wipe his hand on his jeans, uncaring for the shards of glass he's rubbing in or the blood he's getting on them. Carol jumps up to get him something to wrap his hand in and he growls at her. " _Stop_."

"Daryl, what's wrong?" Maggie asks, her voice soft with sympathy for the answer she already knows is coming.

And Daryl tries to stay silent on a lot of things. He's sure if he said everything he thought they'd all have left him on the rooftop along with Merle, because his brother's a fucking loudmouth and doesn't keep it shut when he should. He bullshits and he's loud, but Daryl _doesn't_. He says what's _true_ , what _needs_ saying, and if they heard it all the time they wouldn't want him around.

But now it's time.

"What's _wrong_?" he repeats incredulously, wiping his hand again on his jeans. Carol has started picking up glass pieces next to him, wrapping them in the cloth since Daryl won't let her clean up his hand. "Y'all are sittin' here actin' like everything's _fine_ and Rick is -."

He stops, choking on the name, and drops his eyes away. _Too Omega for your own good, little brother_. Merle's voice haunts him, taunting and high, and Daryl shakes his head and lifts his eyes again. "We gotta do somethin' about Rick. We gotta _do something_."

Maggie frowns, her eyes flashing to Shane briefly. "But…we are?"

Daryl snarls at her. "Lockin' him in a _fuckin'_ barn and keepin' me away from him isn't doing _shit_."

"We're waiting for _you_ ," Lori interrupts, "to go into Heat, Daryl."

Daryl blinks at Lori, his eyes wide. And suddenly it all makes sense. They weren't guarding him to keep him away from Rick – well, they were, but not just because of that. They'd been _watching_ him, waiting for him to show the first signs of a Heat. So that he could go to Rick.

Daryl suddenly feels like he's been let in on a huge group secret, and the back of his throat burns with anger. He clenches his fingers again, and doesn't react when Carol finally manages to wrangle his hand towards her and starts dabbing at the pinpricks of blood with a napkin. "You were waitin'…" He breathes out, breathes in, and tries to force himself not to explode on all of them. " _Fuck_."

"We just assumed," Maggie says, shifting her weight uncomfortably in her seat. "Since, y'know, Rick's Ruttin', and you're an Omega, and you and him are -."

"What?" Daryl spits, "Rick and I are _what_ , exactly?"

"Mated?" Maggie hazards, her eyes darting to Shane again. Shane, for his part, has a hand over his mouth and gives a small, short shake of his head. His expression is one of understanding, like he's just realized how much they'd all misjudged that situation and how well and truly fucked that makes them.

"Well we're _not_ ," Daryl replies. "I –. We wanted –. But I wasn't gonna risk him doin' that." And suddenly all the fight feels like it has been leached right out of him, trickling down through the cuts in his hand and into a napkin to be wiped away. "I wasn't gonna risk it, and it happened anyway." He lets out a hoarse, choked laugh, reaching up with his free hand to wipe over his face. " _Fuck_."

There's silence at the table again, and it is crushing and oppressive and makes Daryl want to crawl out of his own skin.

"I was gonna come here, tryin'a convince everyone to let me go in, try and help him." He swallows hard, glares down at his plate. "And here you all were just _waitin_ ' for it."

"You can't go in outside a Heat," Lori says, shaking her head. "He'll rip you apart. We have to wait."

"Well you're gonna be waiting a long fuckin' time, then," Daryl snaps back, the thumb on his free hand migrating to his mouth so he can bite at the cuticles again. "I can't…I don't go into Heat. So."

Another silence rolls across the room, tense and uncertain. Herschel breaks it, startling the rest of them; "Are you taking medications?" he asks, his gentle voice flat and business-like, and Daryl feels a brief, wishful thought that he should be, because at least that's easy to fix, but his eighteen-year-old-self had known that pills were unreliable, and worse than that; they were expensive and ran the risk of running out.

He shakes his head. "Just kinda…" He makes a vague gesture to his stomach and shakes his head again. "Took care of that part. Wasn't gonna ever be that kinda guy."

He knows some of them must have seen his scars. He wonders how many of them assumed they'd all been ones he'd earned from other people. Looking at Shane, he sees the man's eyes widen in understanding, flick involuntarily down to his abdomen where Daryl knows there are two sharp scars on either side of the little trail of hair below his belly button, angled down and inward to where a baby would grow.

"So…no Heat," Maggie finally says, her voice hoarse. Carol moves away from Daryl's side, shoving a wad of napkin in his hand and closing his fingers around it. Daryl is just starting to notice the pain, and looks away from Maggie's pretty, sad eyes down to his clenched fist. He shakes his head.

"Way I see it," he says with more breath in his lungs than he needs, "is I gotta try. And if I can't save him, you gotta put him down. I'm – I'm your only option. 've thought about it. I gotta be the one to go. I'm the one he wants."

"Man," Shane says, finally breaking his silence, "I can't send you in there like this in good conscience." Lori reaches over, takes Shane's hand away from his mouth and squeezes it. "Look, I – I know Rick. He's my best friend, my brother, and I know what he'd want. He'd _kill_ me if I let him hurt you."

"Just gimme three days," Daryl replies, shifting his tone from quiet to pleading, just a little – just enough of a lilt to his voice that he knows Alphas respond to. Merle used to say he could charm the honey from a beehive if he put his mind to it. Daryl hasn't needed to for a long time, but the memory comes easily: lowered shoulders, downcast eyes, soft voice. Alphas melt for that kind of shit. It feels wrong to expose his throat to Shane and so he doesn't, but he does tilt his head just enough to show that he knows his place and he knows Shane's and he's not demanding, he's asking. "Enough food for him'n'me, and if I don't walk outta that barn then you come in after me. Either I'll be dead or I won't be and either way we'll know if I can save him."

Shane is already shaking his head, but it's not a refusal. Daryl remembers how Shane was before Rick showed up – angry and guilty with whites all around the edges of his eyes. Now he's calmer, has settled back into his place as the beta male, submissive only to Rick's lead, and with Lori at his side he's more relaxed. He trusts Rick because he has always trusted Rick and he needs Rick because Rick is their leader and their pack Alpha and they need to know he can be saved.

They don't need Rick like Daryl does, but if it gets them to agree then he'll take it.

Finally, he nods. "Not tonight," he says, holding his hand out in warning. "Sleep, we'll get you more rope and enough food to last. We'll make sure the barn's secured just…just in case." Daryl nods, biting the inside of his lip since one hand is bloodied up and the other is holding onto his own thigh so tightly it hurts. "You get three days."

He nods again. "Okay."

 

 

Daryl doesn't sleep. In truth he's surprised anyone expected him to, but he doesn't sleep. Instead he sprawls outside of Rick's tent, his face pressed to Rick's rucksack and breathing in what little scent he can still get of the man, and goes over in his head what's about to happen.

Rick will probably be weak. He doesn't think anyone has been risking feeding him, since in this world being in Rut might as well mean you're a dead man walking.  The human body can survive without food for a while but the weakness will set in around hour nine. Dehydration is the bigger concern and Daryl makes a note to try and get Rick some water before anything else.

He thinks back to the night with the rope and the stick. How do they have him tied? Is he trussed up like a pig, wrapped in knots so tight and strong that he can't even move? Is the stick a backboard against his spine, propping him up and forcing him against a wall?

Daryl closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath, his fingers clenching in Rick's sleeping bag. He hasn't prayed since he was a pup, but he finds his thoughts turning Heavenward now, whispering ' _Please, just let him be okay'._

Just let him live.

 

 

The morning dawns bright and early and Daryl is awake before everyone except Andrea, who had taken watch on top of the RV, and Dale and Shane, who greet Daryl when he walks up to the barn.

"Too early for this shit," Shane says in way of greeting, handing him a full bag. There is a coil of rope wrapped up on the side of the bag and Daryl shoulders it with a grunt. He has his knife strapped to his thigh and his crossbow slung over his shoulder. Shane eyes it with a raised eyebrow. "You think you're gonna need that?"

Daryl shrugs. "If I gotta use it, I don't want Carl to hear," he replies, and Shane's expression flattens out into something angry and solemn and he nods. Daryl hates that he's thought about it – thought about how he'd kill Rick if it came down to it. To this minute he doesn't know whether he'll actually be able to pull the trigger or not. He likes to think he would, that Rick would want him to if he could see himself, but _Daryl_ hasn't even seen Rick in days and his heart is itching up in his throat and he just wants to _go_.

"See you in a couple days," Dale says, his farewell oddly light as Daryl nods and goes around the back of the barn to climb through the hayloft. The front doors have extra barricades in front and thick black sheets to lock the light, so the only light that will be in the barn is what comes through the hayloft.

When Daryl climbs up, they take the ladder away and leave him up there. Daryl figures Rick must be tied up in a way that prevented him from climbing up the inside, or his Rutter brain was like Walkers' and he hadn't figured that part out.

Either way, as soon as Daryl drops down he knows he's going to be on his own.

He leaves the food up in the hayloft with his crossbow and his knife. He can hear Rick's breathing down below, steady and slow. He's not asleep. He's waiting; a jungle cat hiding in the shadows and waiting for their prey to crawl just a little closer.

"Rick," Daryl whispers, and hears the answering rumble from the predator below him. "I'm here."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So I lied. There's actually going to be three parts to this story, but this part has porn so I'm hoping you'll forgive me. Enjoy!

"Rick," he says again, squinting down into the darkness until he eyes start to adjust.

Rick's low growl vibrates through the air, soft and deep. _Come here, Daryl_ , it seems to say, and Daryl clenches his fingers and bites the inside of his lower lip, fighting the urge to just fling himself over the edge of the hayloft and down into the darkness below. An Alpha's call inspires obedience and Daryl knows he's damn lucky that whatever Shane, Dale and T-Dog had managed to rig up means Rick has been effectively silenced.

Daryl grabs a bottle of water and a flashlight from the pack Shane gave him and flicks the flashlight on, shining it down into the darkness below. The floor is marred with slime and blood from the Walkers that had been kept in here, and there are a few stray patches of hay scattered across the concrete, but otherwise there's nothing of note. No Rick, trussed up like a squealing pig, that he can see.

So Rick must be below the hayloft. Waiting for him.

A shiver runs down Daryl's spine, and he grips the water bottle tightly in his cut-up hand. The pain is dull from the shards of glass he knows are still stuck in his palm, but it centers him and stops his heart from racing and his shoulders from tensing up.

If the world wasn't in a shit storm, if he and Rick had found each other and for some unexplainable cosmic reason, Rick still wanted him the way Alphas want Omegas, this would be so different. There'd be a chase, something long and arduous for Rick to prove to Daryl that he's willing to follow him to the ends of the Earth and kill whatever gets in his way for the right to mate with Daryl. They'd court, share kills over a fire and Rick would learn how to make Daryl purr with his hands in Daryl's hair and his lips on Daryl's throat.

Then, they'd mate. Daryl's body would get slick and ready and he'd crawl until Rick covered him, shoved his shoulders down and bit his nape until Daryl howled for him, clawing at the ground as Rick fucked him, his body grinding deep and hard into Daryl's until they were both so sated and fucked out that their words became nothing more than grunts and moans; two animals desperately rutting together to sate some need that had been ingrained into them from birth.

And then, when their bodies were high on bloodlust and sex and too spent to give another moment, Rick would pin Daryl down and knot him, come deep inside of him while his knot swelled to deter any other rival male and make sure none of his seed leaked back out, ensuring his claim and aiding pregnancy. Daryl feels his body rippling, aching and dry at the thought of getting fucked so deeply and so _well_ that his body would round with his Alpha's child. It would have no choice, no matter what Daryl had done to render himself barren.

He _wants_ to. Part of him wants to mate and breed so badly that the hand holding the flashlight is shaking and the water bottle is crackling under his grip. But the other part – the part that is practical and angry and full of guilt – knows that it's better this way. He isn't meant to be a father, can't risk his own kids ending up just like him. Just like his momma, Daryl's biology is programmed to fall hard and to fall fast, and even with all the care in the world and all the judge of character, there's no telling when an Alpha could snap and turn on his family.

Another low growl echoes in the darkness and Daryl swallows, snapping back to the present. He steps away from the edge of the hayloft and kneels in front of the bag again, going through it so that he knows what he has to work with.

He unhooks the rope and sets it to one side with his knife and his crossbow. Inside the bag is more bottle water and food, enough rations for three days just like he'd asked for, wrapped up in a paper bag like a packed lunch. There's bread, jerky, and even a jar of peach jelly. He snorts, thinking of Beth and Maggie carefully preparing it for him, and sets it to the side as well.

There's something else in the bag, and Daryl pulls it out with a frown. It's a small bottle that fits easily into the palm of his hand, and before Daryl even reads the label he knows what it is, what it's for.

He shoves the food back into the bag and fastens it a little more vehemently than he means to, and glares at the bottle again. Lube. Fucking _lube_. Because he can't go into Heat, can't get wet like he's going to have to if he stands a chance of not getting ripped up from the inside by Rick's knot. He wonders who put this in here – Lori, maybe, who'd know more than anyone how big Rick is. Maybe Carol, who might have had sex so often when she didn't want to or wasn't ready that she had to use fake slick for her asshole ex-husband. Maybe Maggie, who is in love with her mate and they go at it so fucking often that maybe she just can't keep up but still wants it so badly that the soreness is worth it.

He wants to throw it away, toss it out of the fucking hayloft window with a curse, but he doesn't. He doesn't because whoever put this in here knows he needs it. Fuck, he _will_ need it, because he's not fool enough to think that Rick is capable of being gentle, is capable of holding back and realizing that Daryl's body isn't as into this as he wants it to be. If sex is what Rick needs, Daryl isn't going to believe that he'll be capable of stopping.

He sets the bottle of lube down and pulls the rope over, shoving himself up to his feet. He uncoils it carefully, tests the thickness and the coarseness of it. It's more like twine than rope, really, and wouldn't do much good for restraining. It's certainly not the strong, thick shit they brought in before – the kind that is used to wrangle cattle and horses. This kind of thing is used to loop around fences, a deterrent rather than an actual method of restraint.

Daryl lets it drop with another huff. Fuck it. If Shane and Dale and T-Dog couldn't manage to tie up one damn Alpha with all the rope they'd used before, this twine shit isn't going to help Daryl any.

He eyes the bottle of lube again. He has to get himself ready. There's no one coming to the barn for three days, but even so Daryl grabs the bottle and crawls over to the corner of the hayloft so that he's not immediately visible from any angle, inside or out, and closes his eyes as he pulls his jeans down below his hips. He doesn't push them any father, just enough so that he can reach where he needs to.

The lube is cold on his fingers and he hisses, but doesn't give himself time to adjust as he reaches back and slips the tip of one finger inside. He hasn't had anything inside of him since his first and only Heat, and that had been so unsatisfying and terrifying that he hasn't thought to try since. It's not like he gets really wet anyway, doesn't have the slick in him to relax and let it feel good, so he's never tried.

But he has to try, now, for Rick. At least make it so that he can deal with it when it does happen. Rick won't know to go slow, to be gentle, and to wait for slick that will never come. Daryl feels a flush spread over his face as he shoves one finger in as far as it can go, gritting his teeth when his untried body protests the sudden intrusion. He has to fake it for Rick, make his body feel slick and welcoming and eager like an Omega should be. If it saves Rick, he can deal with the pain. He _will_.

He shoves in another finger, hears another growl below him. Maybe Rick can smell him, now. Rick knows he's here, he _has_ to know, and he'll be able to smell Omega and lube and know that Daryl has come for him. His Alpha will finally get what he wants, what they _both_ want, even if the circumstances are less than perfect.

When Daryl manages to get up to three fingers he forces himself to stop, getting to his feet and pulling his pants back up. His body has started to burn with anticipation – it's not Heat, but even his unreactive body understands what it means to feel slick and stretched, knows what the stench of Alpha is _supposed_ to do. Daryl can't smell Rick much over the hay and the stale, dusty scent in the barn, but he's sure he will.

Taking another deep breath, he grabs the water bottle again and the flashlight. He shoves the water bottle into the back of his jeans until the belt catches the thickest part of the bottle to keep it steady and secure, and after another moment of thought he slides his knife back into place at his side. He doesn't like the thought of using it, but he might need to.

If nothing else, a tiny, hopeful part of him thinks he might just cut the ropes with it. Rick will calm down once he sees Daryl; he'll come back to himself. That's all he wants – that's all _his Alpha wants_. Daryl. For some crazy, wonderful reason, Rick wants _Daryl._

Daryl climbs down the ladder, flashlight between his teeth, his ears pricked and his body tense for any sudden movement. None come, and Daryl reaches the concrete of the barn floor unmolested. Which is strange, because Daryl knows Rick was definitely capable of moving around before the other Alphas tied him up.

He squints into the darkness and shines the flashlight there.

"Fuckin' Hell," he whispers.

Rick is there. Rick is…

Daryl reaches up, wipes a hand over his mouth. "Rick," he whispers, earning another low growl from his Alpha. Rick's eyes are wild and red, such a deep, bright red like freshly-spilled blood. There's rope thick around his neck, keeping him held back against one of the strong, wooden beams stretching from roof to ceiling, and there's rope around his chest and stomach. His shoulders bulge and his hands are hidden and Daryl knows his hands are tied around the beam as well. He's kneeling, his jeans brown from mud and Daryl can see that they're almost scraped through, too, like Rick has been bracing his knees on the floor and pulling with all his might, like he can support the weight of the beam on his shoulders like he does everything else.

That's not even the worst thing.

Daryl suddenly understands exactly what the stick was for. Rick is gagged, his bared teeth bloody because he's been _chewing_ on the damn thing. There's rope around each side of it that circles the stick and goes back around his head – it looks like some fucked-up, macabre bridle in Rick's mouth, and Daryl can see blood on his lips and the corners of his mouth are probably torn and splintered. Alphas' teeth are sharper at the canines – not pronounced or awkwardly jutting, but definitely there, and it looks like Rick has been trying to rip the branch to shreds with just his mouth. His jaw must be aching, his gums bleeding and red.

Daryl chokes back a raw, rage-filled sound; an emotion that he can see reflected in Rick's red eyes. "God _fuckin'_ -." His hands are shaking so hard that he almost drops the flashlight, and he finally lowers the light, able to see well enough in the darkness to know where Rick is, to know that Rick can see his silhouette just fine. " _Rick_."

Rick snarls. Daryl knows without looking that his upper lip is curling back, more blood and saliva leaking around the branch in his mouth. He hears Rick give a choked-off growl, hears the branch creaking from the force of his jaws.

_Come here, Daryl_.

He doesn't hear the words, and thank God for that, because he knows what Rick will ask him. ' _Come here, untie me, spread your legs_ , _bare your throat_ ', and he wants to do all of it and if Rick tells him to, then he will, and they'll both die.

But he has to think about this. He takes another shuddering breath and lifts the light again, swallowing when Rick squints and snarls at him. He steps forward, his head bowed as he approaches, trying his best to look submissive and non-threatening. The closer he gets, the brighter Rick's eyes shine, red and wanting, and Rick lifts his head towards him, his nostrils flaring and his throat working to swallow.

He's rabid, no better than a Walker right now. Daryl has to do this _carefully_.

He can't free Rick's mouth, and he can't free Rick's hands. Not yet. Not until he knows Rick can hear him, can respond to him. He sets the flashlight down and lets the two of them become enveloped in the darkness once more. This is how their kind used to interact, he tells himself, before things like society and common languages cropped up – it used to just be Alpha and Omega, wrapped up in each other in the darkness with their eyes sharp and looking over each other's shoulders for other predators. Daryl knows the wild, knows the ancient beings they used to be, breeding and fighting for survival.

Rick is still learning; he's a youngling Alpha with a new pack, clawing and howling for his mate. Daryl might be new to the pleasures of the flesh and something as raw and raging as desire, but he knows and understands instinct. He knows the wild, and he knows hunger. He can teach Rick.

"Rick," he whispers again, his voice hoarse like he hasn't spoken in days. He reaches forward with his uninjured hand and fights the urge to flinch when Rick swings his head around, grunting and growling, his stubble-rough cheek hitting the back of Daryl's knuckles. "Easy, Alpha, easy. S'just me."

_Gotta be sweet, little brother. Gotta charm your way outta this one._

He can appease an Alpha. If it worked on Shane it will definitely work on Rick, who loves him and wants him with the intensity of a sun. Daryl takes another step forward until he can hear Rick's breathing getting heavier, knows Rick is able to scent him, and he's suddenly glad that he _doesn't_ go into Heat because he's not sure he could handle the intensity of an Alpha in Rut if he did.

Rick's face rubs against his hand, the ropes creaking as he fights against them, and this time the sound Rick lets out is one laced in pain, in such sharp-edged, cracking desire that Daryl is reminded of glass, shattered windows glittering under his boots.

"Rick," he says, his voice breaking. It feels like the only word that he can say, the only word that _matters_ , is the Alpha's name. " _Fuck_. Goddamn dumbass, what're you doin', huh?"

He can see the shine of Rick's eyes when Rick looks up, and brushes his hand through the Alpha's blood- and sweat-damp hair. His fingers hit the rope wrapped around Rick's head and he takes in another sharp breath.

Alphas in Rut become that way because they feel something threatening them, or their mate. If Daryl lets himself believe that Rick snapped because Daryl was almost put down right in front of him, then maybe all Rick needs is to see him, to feel that he's okay.

It occurs to him, now, that this is the first time Rick has seen him since that incident. He'd heard Daryl's voice, but they haven't _seen_ each other until now.

Daryl bites the inside of his lip, grabs the flashlight and flicks it all the way on so it'll stay on when he takes his thumb away, and sets it back down. Now he can see Rick's face, and Rick's eyes snap to him, wide and glazed, and he takes another huge breath that makes the ropes creak around his chest. Rick arches forward again, his knees scraping back against the concrete with a damp, rough sound, the skin around his neck reddening as he lunges against the ropes.

He growls out another word that sounds a lot like ' _Daryl_ ', and Daryl swallows hard and takes a step back.

He needs to get Rick something to drink, needs to feed him. But he can't take the gag out because if Rick tells Daryl to let him go then Daryl will obey because he _has_ to. Daryl reaches back, Rick's eyes burning into him like he's an ant under a magnifying glass, and he pulls the water bottle out from his belt. It's wet, condensing in the humid air.

He crouches down, putting his head below Rick, and lowers his eyes so that his hair is hiding them, showing his submission as much as he can next to Rick. He can feel Rick's gaze on him, heavy like an iron collar around his neck, and he shifts his weight to his knees and crawls forward until he can fit his shoulder against Rick's chest. Rick growls again, and Daryl feels the stick in his mouth rubbing into his hair, winces at the slickness that he knows is blood and saliva, dripping down his neck and staining Rick's throat. Rick is trying to bite him, claim the Omega willingly crawling into his den, and Daryl shivers, his body clenching up and warm because he _wants_ Rick to bite him. When it's over, he still wants it – because now that Rick _has_ Rutted it doesn't matter if Daryl denies them what they both want.

They'll make it. They _have_ to. _Rick_ has to.

He can feel the hard edge of the stick rubbing against the back of his head, feel the brush of Rick's lips around it as the Alpha tries desperately to bite and nuzzle him, and Daryl sighs and tilts his head and pushes his nose up against the rope around Rick's neck.

Rick stinks of his own blood and sweat and it makes something in Daryl curl up and whine, more Omega than he's ever felt in the presence of this powerful Alpha.

"'m right here," he says quietly, rubbing a hand gently against Rick's heaving chest. "C'mon, Rick, I know you can hear me. You gotta calm down. Ain't nothin' worth gettin' this worked up over."

Rick snarls at him, upper lip curling back, and the ropes creak again. Now that he's pressed up close, he can feel Rick's muscles strain and fight against the restraints keeping him back. He's weak, underfed and overworked, half-crazed from Rut, and physically Daryl knows he'd probably have the edge right now, but untying Rick's hands is out of the question.

He needs to calm Rick down, so that he knows he can at least loosen the ropes without putting himself, Rick, and everyone else at risk.

But first, water. Daryl pulls away, wincing at the rough growl Rick lets out, the Alpha's eyes narrowed and demanding on his face, and he reaches for the water bottle again and unscrews the cap. Rick's eyes snap to it and he blinks, his nostrils flaring, and Daryl wonders if he can even smell anything aside from blood and Rut and _Omega_.

"You gotta drink somethin'," he says, because even though Rick's only reaction is to growl at him, at least he's reacting. He lifts the bottle and takes a swig of it himself, then puts it to Rick's lips. Rick bares his teeth and Daryl can see his jaw bulging around the ropes at the stick in his mouth, but when he starts to pour the water Rick's throat works to swallow and it looks like some of it is going in around the stick. It's a start, at least, even if part of Daryl worries over what else Rick is swallowing as the water pours down his throat. "There we go. That's real good, Rick. Keep drinkin'."

The water trickles into Rick's mouth, across his lips and down his chin and neck as well, making his skin shine in the light coming from Daryl's flashlight. Daryl fights the urge to lick his Alpha's throat, clean him up, and focuses instead on making sure he works as much water into his Alpha's mouth as he can. Rick is breathing deeply through his nose, a low rumble settled deep in his chest, but at least he won't die of dehydration and right now that's all Daryl can ask for.

He knows there's a time limit on this; the sooner he gets started working Rick down from his frenzy, the better. Rick's eyes start to close after a moment, his breathing going from slow to gasping, uneven, and Daryl pulls the bottle away, half-empty. He puts the lid back on and tosses it to one side.

Rick tilts his head forward again, gaze sharp. Daryl has had time to learn the different colors of blue in Rick's eyes – the dark, stormy gunmetal color that means he's angry, the summer-sky brightness that means he's happy, but there's no way to read the red. It's flat, there's only one emotion there: want, _need_.

Rick is in need and it's Daryl's job to provide. Always has been.

Daryl pets through his hair again, bites the inside of his lip when Rick turns his head and rubs his gagged mouth against Daryl's wrist. ' _He'd bite you if he could_ ', Daryl tells himself, because he can't let himself believe that already Rick is calming down, stepping away from the frenzied edge. If he did, he'd be more of a fool than Merle always believed he was.

Water taken care of, he decides that food can wait. The human body can survive without food for a long while, and although he wants Rick healthy it's in both their best interests to keep him weak for now. So instead he tugs on Rick's hair, snaps the Alpha's attention to him as though it had ever really left.

"Gotta get you off your knees," he murmurs, because although they're about the same height it's easier for an Alpha to feel in control when they're standing. He pushes himself off his knees, onto the balls of his feet, and tugs at Rick's ropes to try and work them up the beam as the Alpha struggles to stand. "There we go, c'mon, Rick."

Once Rick is standing Daryl pushes his nose against Rick's collarbone this time, keeping his head lowered and letting the Alpha feel his warmth. Rick's breathing is strained, his body trembling with pent-up aggression, and this time Daryl can _feel him_. He closes his eyes and allows Rick to arch and rub against him, bites his lower lip _hard_ when he feels Rick's erection rutting against his thigh, the Alpha snarling at him with such _demand_ that Daryl feels like he can hear the words even though Rick is still gagged.

His mouth is dry and he shifts his weight, feels the slickness of the lube he'd used on himself between his thighs because he needs to be sloppy-wet, tight as sin, ready for his Alpha when the time comes.

"S'gonna be okay," Daryl says, both for himself and for Rick, as he slides his hand down Rick's chest and starts to work at the Alpha's belt, tugging it free and unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans so that he can reach inside. His eyes are still closed and he sucks in a sharp breath when he wraps his hand around Rick's cock, feels it warm and smooth in his hand. Rick is already leaking, precome smearing on the inside of Daryl's wrist right where his mouth just was, and Daryl is surprised at just how hard the _want_ hits him.

He strokes Rick slowly, pulling his erection out so that he can touch the entire thing. Rick's breathing is unsteady and fast, raw against Daryl's hair, and Daryl can feel his knees shaking. He wets his mouth and spits on his hand, goes right back to stroking before his Alpha can snarl at him for taking his touch away. It's like he can feel Rick's desire as a second skin, coating him, and he'd never thought that this kind of feeling could be for him but now that he has even a taste of it he understands.

It is right now, crowded in some dark corner of a cursed barn with an Alpha he doesn't deserve, that Daryl knows he'll either save Rick or he will die. It's not just a thought anymore, it's _knowledge_. The kind of things people will teach years from now – about how Omegas and Alphas are meant to mold together, bond together so tightly that even death cannot separate them.

Rick lets out a loud, pained moan, and Daryl winces as he hears the stick in his mouth crack again from the force of his jaws. Rick arches into his hand and Daryl twists his grip in answer, letting his fingers tease at the small, loose patch of skin where Rick's knot would grow if they were fucking. Pressed as close as he is, Daryl feels Rick's abdomen clench and his shoulders shudder, curling in, and then the Alpha is coming onto Daryl's hand, coating one leg of his jeans in his release.

Daryl doesn't even think about it; he lifts his dirty hand and smears Rick's seed along his neck so that his Alpha can smell it on him, and opens his eyes when he hears Rick's shuddering inhale. When he pulls back, Rick's eyes are on his neck, wild and red and dark. He grunts out something, another word that sounds so much like Daryl's name, and Daryl nods.

"Right here, Rick," he says, and tilts his head when Rick leans his down, straining against the ropes, to drag his nose through the come on Daryl's throat. It's an Alpha thing, he knows, to want to smell themselves on their mates, and Daryl shudders at the brush of Rick's bloody mouth against his neck. Rick still wants to bite him, would still rip his throat out given half the chance, but it's a start.

He puts his other hand in Rick's hair and lets the Alpha rut and growl against him. Rick is still hard, the Rut he's in demanding he not stop and so Daryl slides his grip right back onto Rick's cock, his hand now slicker because of Rick's come. Rick shudders, snarls again, and this time the sound is impatient and angry.

' _He wants to fuck_ ,' Daryl's mind whispers. ' _He wants his bitch sweet, ready, on his hands and knees. He wants his_ Omega _. Give it to him._ '

Daryl ignores that voice in his head that sounds so much like Rick, closes his eyes again and keeps his hand going, tight as he can make it, until Rick is coming again. Just like before he rubs Rick's seed on his neck, his wrists, and lifts up his shirt to rub it on his stomach, until he's sure he reeks of the Alpha. Rick lasts through one more round before his eyes finally start to dull, drooping with exhaustion. After the third round his cock no longer produces anything when he comes and finally starts to soften. Daryl helps him to sit this time with his legs sprawled out, and he makes Rick take one more drink of water before he flicks the flashlight off.

Rick's breathing is even, slow and deep as Daryl knows it gets when he's about to go to sleep. His heartbeat is steady and his eyes no longer glow with that Alpha fever, and even though the sun is still shining brightly, Daryl lets the exhaustion take him, too. He didn't sleep the night before and he doubts Rick has slept since he Rutted, and it's nice to feel the Alpha finally calming down, knowing it's because of Daryl, because Daryl is near him. Rick's mind is reacting to having his mate nearby, sweet and willing and safe, and if Daryl can give him that then it's a win in his book.

He's sticky with come and absolutely _stinks_ of Rick, but he doesn't care. When Rick closes his eyes and finally starts to drift off, Daryl sits next to him like there's nothing wrong with the picture, like he's just keeping watch and letting Rick catch some shut-eye on a run, like the Alpha's not bound and gagged and half-feral from a Rut.

He climbs up the ladder once Rick is asleep, eats enough jerky to calm the gnawing hunger in his stomach, and then curls up with his knife under his hand and drifts off to sleep.

 

 

 

Daryl is woken by a loud, _angry_ snarl. He immediately rolls into a sitting position, knife gripped tightly and ready to slash, but it's not a Walker sound he wakes up to, and he doesn't see the dead hovering above him, jaws working and hands turned to claws trying to rip his flesh from his bones.

Instead, he winces through the hayloft window, seeing the orange light of dusk settling over the forest that guards the border of Herschel's farm. He can see Carl in the distance, wandering around with Carol and Lori towards one of the wells, and he can hear Shane yelling somewhere for Dale, his words unintelligible but his voice unmistakable. He doesn't sound panicked, though, so Daryl lets the tension fall from his shoulders and wills his heart to calm down from the initial adrenaline rush.

The snarl comes again and Daryl closes his eyes and sighs. Rick. He's awake.

Daryl's skin is tacky with come and he can feel his hair plastered to his neck, sweat making him sticky and gross, and he winces as he rolls over and pushes himself up onto his knees. His eyes flash involuntarily to the bottle of lube he'd left sitting next to the backpack and worries the inside of his lower lip with his teeth.

They hadn't gotten to penetration that morning, and Daryl knows he'll have tightened up and he'll need to use more now, but the thought of stretching himself open again sends a twinge of something that almost feels like loss down his spine, a fingernail dragging across the vertebrae and digging into the gaps.

"It ain't right," he whispers to himself with a hard shake of his head. He shouldn't need lube. He shouldn't be _using_ it like this. He grabs the bottle and holds it too tightly, squirts too much onto his hand as he crawls back into the hidden corner of the hayloft and stretches himself open again, and grits his teeth at the feeling of his ass stretching to accommodate his fingers.

Rick will hurt more, he's sure, but at least it'll feel somewhat _right_. It's what his body is _made_ for, mating with an Alpha, knotting with an Alpha, and Daryl knows that even if they make it out of the other side of this, unscathed and Rick still wanting him with that desperate, aching desire he'd shown in the forest, he'll never want to touch himself again without Rick there. Daryl's fingers leave him aching and empty-feeling and he _hates_ it.

Rick snarls at him again as he climbs down, his eyes that bright red once more. "Rick," Daryl says, his voice quiet, shaky, and the Alpha curls his upper lip back, "c'mon, man, what're you gettin' so worked up for?"

He'd left the flashlight down next to Rick and he flicks it on again, highlighting the Alpha's face. Rick looks worse, if that's possible. The branch has splintered enough that there are visible shards of it in Rick's gums and lips, the corners of his mouth shine with fresh blood, and his skin looks sickly and pale. He looks like the ferals they've had to put down on the side of the road and Daryl swallows down the feeling of failure that's already starting to settle in the back of his head.

"I ain't lettin' you turn, Rick," he says, his voice hard as he reaches for the Alpha's sweaty hair and smooths it away from his face. "I ain't losin' you."

He lowers himself down until he's straddling Rick's lap, able to feel the Alpha's erection rubbing up between his legs. ' _It ain't right_ ', he tells himself again, biting his lower lip and running his fingers across Rick's slick neck. He tilts his head and lets Rick smell him, smell the mess Rick made of him before, and it seems to make Rick settle somewhat, the low rumbling growl turning into something more like a purr.

Rick's heels shift and scrape against the concrete floor, unnaturally loud as the Alpha fights to get closer to Daryl, his eyes wide and his breathing heavy and uneven through his nose. It's like he's trying to soak himself into Daryl, rubbing his face against Daryl's sticky, dirty neck like it's the best thing he's ever touched.

Daryl tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling and swallowing hard. Part of him wants to fight it with all his might, but that part is small and bitter and succumbs easily to the rest of him – the Omega in him that's _reacting_ to the feeling of an Alpha's scent on his skin, an Alpha purring so prettily below him, and with such obvious desire rubbing between his legs.

If the world was normal, if things were _fair_ and _right_ anymore, Daryl knows this would be so different. Even Rick's single attempt to mate with him in the woods had shown him that – the Alpha was passionate before, selfless and desperate, but now he's ravenous. He's greedy and possessed by his hunger and Daryl knows Rick isn't capable of stopping, of keeping calm and going slow, and honestly some part of Daryl _likes_ that. Because he knows he can take it. He knows he can beat Rick in a fair enough fight, knows he's not some simpering Omega who'll roll over and whine to someone who hasn't earned it.

People like Beth, like Herschel and Lori and the whole damn _group_ – they'd never be able to handle Rick like this. And that thought sends a flash of hot, possessive _pride_ straight through Daryl and, with a sharp breath, he finds the strength to pull away from Rick just enough that he can look into the Alpha's eyes.

"You're _mine_ ," he rumbles, tries to match Rick's low growl but he can't, his throat isn't built for that shit. Rick blinks at him, his upper lip trembling in a snarl and Daryl shows his teeth right back, pushes his fingers through Rick's hair and feels the rope slide just an inch back, pulling at the corners of his mouth and forcing the Alpha's head back against the wooden beam. "Been mine since the moment I metcha, huh? That why you're losing your shit so bad?"

Rick just growls again, his eyes flashing a darker red as his eyes move to Daryl's mouth. Like this, with his head tilted back, he looks almost submissive, eyes narrowed to slits and jaw working to swallow the saliva and blood leaking down his throat. Daryl wants to _bite_ him, and maybe in the before world that wouldn't be fucking acceptable, but this isn't the _before_ world anymore and this is about giving Rick what he needs but Daryl has needs too and he feels the want, now, leaching into him like water through his boots, crawling up his spine as he lets himself be pulled under. He's lulled in and drowning and he lets Rick's head go and shoves himself back.

Rick's anger washes over him like a tidal wave, silent but strong, and Daryl shudders and hunches his shoulders in but doesn't lift his eyes, because if he reads the orders there he'll obey them and then they'll be in worse shit than they already are.

He shoves his jacket off his shoulders along with his vest and tosses it over a small half-wall to his right. His hands hesitate at his shirt and, biting the inside of his lip, he slides his hands to his belt instead. Rick doesn't need to see his scars again – this is about showing Rick that his Omega is alive and well and that won't do either of them any favors.

Rick shifts again, pulling on the ropes with small grunts, his nostrils flaring wide as he breathes Daryl in. His eyes feel like a physical touch on Daryl's shoulders, sliding up the back of his neck and _urging_ him down onto his hands and knees and God how badly Daryl wants to obey that, but to mate that way he'll have to let Rick go and he _still_ can't risk that. Not yet.

He shoves his jeans off in one movement, kicking off his boots as he stands. Rick lets out a sound that is _way_ too sinful for the situation, his eyes hooded and the ropes are creaking like it's taking everything in them to hold Rick back.

"Calm down, 'fore you hurt yourself," Daryl scolds, his voice too breathy and soft. He steps forward and kneels over Rick's thighs again, drags his hands down Rick's chest like he's dreamed about doing ever since the Alpha shoved him against a tree and he felt just how strong Rick actually was, how much muscle he was hiding behind that baggy cop's uniform, how much he's filled out and thickened since he recovered from his coma.

It's more difficult with the ropes but Daryl is nothing if not adaptive, and he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, feeling the slick branch in Rick's mouth rubbing against his collarbone in a way that aches and splinters, and focuses his touch on pulling Rick's jeans apart again enough to pull his cock out. Rick is already hard, his erection a pretty, dark red like his eyes, and twitches in Daryl's hand.

Rick grunts at the touch, his hips arching up and his voice growling out the word ' _Daryl_ ', and it definitely sounds like Daryl's name now, which makes it dangerous, and Daryl freezes.

"Rick," he whispers, pulling back, his eyes wide, and he puts his free hand against Rick's face. His palm aches dully from the glass he'd broken into his hand, and if there are still pieces of glass in there Rick doesn't seem to notice when Daryl touches him. "Gotta be quiet, okay?" His words are rough and pleading. "I'll do anythin' you want, Alpha, but you gotta be quiet."

Rick's eyes narrow and he lets out a low sound, but seems to accept whatever Daryl has said – or maybe he hasn't heard a thing and has decided that Daryl's neck is more interesting – because he bows his head and rubs his damaged mouth against Daryl's throat and Daryl knows that if his hands were free he'd be _clawing_ at Daryl's back, trying to get him closer.

Daryl bites his lower lip and pulls his hand away from Rick's face to reach behind himself, testing the stretch and the slickness. Well, he's certainly wet enough thanks to the lube, but there's no two ways about it – fucking Rick is going to _hurt_ , taking Rick's knot, fuck, there's no way he's going to be able to without pain.

But he's been through a lot worse for a lot less. There's no turning back now.

With the way Rick is tied up there's no way for him to slouch enough for Daryl to sit on his lap and face him while they do this. Daryl sighs, rolling his shoulders, and gets up just enough that he can turn around. It's a stupid move for a lot of reasons, least of all because now he can't see Rick and make sure he's not cracking his teeth on that branch in his mouth and he can't see if Rick somehow manages to get out of his bindings and lunges for Daryl with all the aggression he has, but it's the only choice he's got.

And Daryl swallows back a hurt, quiet sound at the thought that he hates it most of all because he can't _see_ Rick, can't watch the Alpha's eyes flutter and fly open when Rick first starts to sink into him, can't see if the feeling will make his head fall back against the wooden beam or fly forward until he chokes on the rope around his neck.

Daryl closes his eyes and reaches back, angling Rick's cock so that it presses against his hole. He's tense as a tripwire and he knows it's going to just make everything worse but he can't help it. Part of him hopes that Rick just takes the initiative and _shoves_ , because at least then it will be _done_ and Daryl's choice, his action, will get taken away and then all he'll have to do is move.

But he knows he should control it, make sure he doesn't fuck himself up more than he already has, so he takes a deep, heavy breath and tells himself to man the fuck up, and slowly starts to sink down until he feels the head of Rick's cock slip inside.

"God _fuckin_ -." He grits his teeth, his free hand forming a fist tight enough that the glass wounds scream back to life at him, but it gives him something to focus on. He throws his head back, heaving another deep breath through his nose and forces himself not to stop. His jaw aches and his whole body is trembling, but eventually he manages to sit fully on Rick's lap, and he gasps when he feels the backs of his bare thighs touching Rick's jean-covered legs. " _Shit_."

His voice is wrecked and the sound he makes is like a whimpering _pup_ , and he takes in another deep breath and tries to breathe past the warm, burning _pain_ of Rick inside of him. Nothing tears because Daryl made damn sure that nothing wouldn't, but even so his body has never had anything so big inside of it before and he didn't give it time to adjust, didn't warm it up enough first and now it's bitching at him like a jilted prom date and he _aches_.

He wipes at his eyes with the back of his wrist and growls at himself, forces himself to direct his attention _outward_ , away from what exactly is inside of him, to the man that thing belongs to.

Rick has gone very still, even his breathing is shallow and slow now. Daryl winces, but forces himself to turn to look over his shoulder, and Rick's eyes meet his like they're magnets snapping together. Fresh blood is leaking down from the corners of his mouth and his eyes are a dull red like a dead fire. He doesn't look as wild as he did before and Daryl swallows and lets himself hope, just for a brief second, that what he's doing is at least working.

Rick hasn't tried to speak again, but after a moment too long of stillness, he blinks and his eyes sharpen, predatory and proud, and he rumbles deep in his chest, a vibration that Daryl feels intimately, and Daryl feels himself shiver and drop his gaze before he can even think about it.

He pulls his feet closer together, framing Rick's thighs, and braces his hands on the Alpha's knees and starts to move. He doesn't waste time with going slow because if Rick lasts as long as he did last time then Daryl will have to keep at this for a while, and the more he moves the faster his body starts to loosen up and the sharp pain dulls to a constant throb.

Rick makes the wildest, darkest sounds behind him, all low growls and purrs that remind Daryl of hunting jungle cats and must have been what their kind used to sound like, back when they'd just crawled from the mud, covered in dust and sweat and fused together by simple, basic instinct. Next to them the flashlight dims, fritzes out and dies, and Daryl lets out a low sound of pleasure as Rick bucks his hips up, and it feels like they're back in those times before Walkers, before society, when they were wild and knew only hunger and lust and weren't clouded by things like culture and politeness and civilization.

Daryl _likes_ it. He likes when he finally manages to bow his back, lean against Rick's chest because Rick has finally caught up with the program and moves under him like a man possessed, driving his hips up into Daryl like he can _will_ himself deeper than he's already going. Daryl wonders if Alphas can sense virginity, smell inexperience, tell when they've penetrated deeper than a rival has ever gotten. It feels like Rick can; Daryl can hear, every now again, a word that's just a little too clear to be safe, deep commands of ' _Mine_ ' and ' _Daryl_ ' and ' _Yes_ ', but Rick seems too far gone to care, to notice he's still tied up, so Daryl focuses on making his body move smoothly with his Alpha's, puts all the effort he can into the strain of his thighs and the even rise and fall of his chest.

His knees are scraped raw and his back burns from catching on the rope even through his shirt, but he's with Rick and even as fucked up as this situation is, it feels better than Daryl thought sex _could_ feel – it's old and primal and just as he'd known no Omega, no woman, could handle Rick like this, no _Alpha_ could stand to own Daryl like Rick is doing right now. _None_. Daryl would not bow and bend and move like this for Shane, or T-Dog, or any of Merle's friends. Not even for his father did Daryl ever so willingly give himself up.

" _Rick_ ," he whines, feels the Alpha's mouth scraping against his neck, hears the branch crack a little more. Rick's close, his breathing is coming faster now, his hips stuttering and starting that slow, dirty grind that Daryl has never felt before but understands as much as he understands the need for water or air. "Alpha, _please_."

Rick makes another low sound, this one louder than those he's made before like he's reveling in his conquest for all the other Alphas to hear, a challenge and a claim to all rivals, and Daryl tilts his head to one side as Rick shoves his forehead against Daryl's temple, rope and stick and stubble rubbing against him, and Daryl forces himself to relax with a sigh as he feels the knot start to grow. It hurts like a bitch, stretching already abused muscle to accommodate it, but Daryl forces himself to be still and let it happen because even though it hurts him, he _burns_ for it, his mind flooded with the need to be so tied to his Alpha and filled to the brim.

Rick throws his head back and the sound he makes is definitely a howl, Daryl is certain it would echo all around the farm if he wasn't gagged. Daryl hisses, shifting his weight as he tries to get comfortable around the knot as it stops stretching and sits in him, ready to plug him full of Rick's seed, and he knows as soon as Rick starts to come because the Alpha collapses underneath him, boneless and spent, and Daryl startles as he feels the warmth of Rick's come flood into him.

Fuck, he'd thought Omegas and women were full of shit when they'd talked about feeling it. Truthfully, even if they normally _could_ , he was sure he'd fucked himself up enough to rob himself of that feeling. But no, he's here, sitting in Rick's lap, and he feels so fucking _owned_ that he's finding it hard to breathe.

Rick moves underneath him, chasing the aftershocks that Daryl is sure are arcing down his spine, and Daryl hisses, leaning his head back as he feels Rick's knot move around inside of him. He hadn't given much thought to his own pleasure, since this was about getting Rick off and getting Rick sane, but he can't deny the flood of _everything_ rushing through him – the revelation about owning Rick, the way Rick feels all hot and sweaty and spent underneath him, the ragged, wet breathing in his ear and the way Rick's knot is rubbing over something inside of him that feels fucking _incredible_.

Daryl moans, dropping his hand down to his cock, finding it thickening quickly from half-hard to full in no time. He spits into his hand and starts to stroke, glad he hadn't shattered his glass with his dominant hand and doesn't have to worry about glass shards on his dick.

Even the thought makes him shudder.

Rick perks up under him as Daryl lets out another low, soft sound, the Alpha rumbling curiously, his hips moving with something that feels like intent and rhythm now. Daryl leans back against him, feeling curiously safe. It's probably the fucking hormones – Alpha and Omega, bonded and mated for life, protecting each other and guarding each other. That must be what it is and fuck if Daryl doesn't know that he's pretty much screwed if this is how he's feeling after one knot, but right now he can't bring himself to care. He's _earned_ , this, damn it, and if he wants to get himself off to being knotted to his Alpha and pretend that they're happy and in love and not fucking _Rutting_ , then he's damn well gonna.

Rick groans when Daryl twists his hand around the head of his cock, Daryl letting out a soft 'Fuck' when he feels his body give an answering clench. It makes Rick's knot _throb_ inside of him, sore muscles protesting the exercise, but it also feels so good, relaxed against Rick and _using_ him like a fucking Alpha _toy_.

Daryl turns his head, shoves his nose against Rick's throat and breathes in his scent; hay and sweat and blood and it's so much like _them,_ the Apocalypse and the world before humanity and _Rick_ , and Daryl squeezes the head of his cock tightly, the fingers of his other hand lightly teasing the place where he feels Rick's knot pressing against him, his rim tender and sore and slick, and he comes with another low sound, and he can feel Rick's knot pulse in answer to every judder of Daryl's body.

" _Rick_ ," Daryl moans, his eyelids fluttering closed, and every part of him wants to mold himself to his Alpha, bare his throat and spread his legs again and coat Rick in his come like he did before with Rick's, so that any other Omega would know that they can't have this Alpha, that this Alpha's virility and his power and his dominance belongs to _Daryl_. "Mm, Rick, _fuck_."

Rick's growl has morphed into a purr now, settled low in his chest, and it's soothing and soft instead of the angry thing it was before. Daryl smiles and his chest feels too tight and he doesn't know what else to do except wait Rick's knot out, so he pushes with his heels until he's sitting a little more comfortably and busies himself idly drawing lines with his come-sticky hand across Rick's neck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep extending this fic ugh. I SWEAR part 4 will be the last part.  
> Also, you guys are going to HATE this, hah.

The pervasive chill of a Georgia autumn night has started to really sink in by the time Daryl climbs back up into the hayloft. His jeans are sticking to him, enough come leaking out that he can feel it trickling all the way down to his bare ankle, and his thighs and ass are the sorest he's felt in a long time, but he forces himself up into the hayloft and away from Rick and collapses next to the rucksack with a soft, defeated sigh.

Rick lasted longer this time, knotting Daryl five times and damn if Daryl's not feeling every second now. He feels split apart, aching and empty like someone shot him and there's still blood leaking from the wound.

Worse than that, though, he feels alone. Every part of him _aches_ , and not just physically, but as though his heart is being pulled back through his chest and down towards the floor of the barn. He wants to curl himself up next to Rick, breathe in the scent of his come and his blood and then Daryl's own scent smeared across Rick's face, his neck, the little part of Rick's chest he can see between the halves of his shirt that drive Daryl crazy on the best of days, let alone now after they've fucked the night away.

Rick lets out the most _beautiful_ sounds, rough snarls and growls and purrs that take Daryl's breath away and make him want to devote himself as a shrine to Rick, to spend his entire waking life with the Alpha in the kind of worship and dust songs that he's sure their ancestors shared.

"Man," he grumbles to his own hand, biting on his cuticles and rolling his eyes, "you are so _fucked_."

"Daryl!"

It's a harsh whisper that snaps Daryl out of his thoughts. Daryl scrambles back upright, wincing when the noise is louder than he'd intended, and prowls to the window of the hayloft. There's still no ladder leading up and Daryl is glad because they don't need someone from the group stomping around outside and waking Rick up.

He braces his hands against the edge and leans out to find Shane standing down there, a hand running through his hair as he looks up at the previously empty window. Shane breathes out once he sees Daryl, as though in relief, like he didn't expect to get an answer.

Daryl raises an eyebrow, cocks his head to one side, and is really glad that Shane is upwind of him because he's sure he _stinks_ of Rick and he's not sure he wants Shane to be able to smell that on him.

"What?" he grunts back, trying to be as quiet as he can. Shane winces, his hands falling to his hips as he squints up at Daryl. His eyes are dark and hidden by the shadows on his face but Daryl knows he's being looked over, checked for injuries, and he's glad that most of what's on him is come and saliva and blood and can be easily hidden from sight.

"Just…wanted to check in," Shane replies, sounding firm but his voice is soft like he's not sure he actually wants to know the answer. Daryl being alive is a good sign but it's not definitive. "Heard a lot of noise earlier and -."

Daryl cuts his gaze away, swallowing hard. His palms burn where they're gripping the crackling wooden frame of the window too tightly. "He's alive," Daryl says quietly, because that's as good a place to start as any. Hell, it's kind of the _only_ place to start, because Rick is alive but it's almost the second day and Daryl has no idea if he's actually improving, or just too fucked-out to Rut as hard. Daryl can't get pregnant so who knows if Rick will ever come out of it.

He forces his brain away from those thoughts, puts his gaze back on Shane. The Alpha looks so small from up here, unsure and negligible amongst the vast, dark sprawl of the Greene farm. He's a good second-in-command but with Rick's fate so unsure Daryl doesn't know if he'd have what it takes to really lead the pack to survival. Daryl wouldn't follow him either way.

He is Rick's, now, wholly and without doubt. Rick is inside of him, branded across his neck in the form of splinters and marks from bloody lips. Rick is there in the way he growls Daryl's name, in the look in his red eyes that Daryl has seen perfectly matched when they're blue and clear as the summer sky. Rick is a man that will make oceans part and will walk across trembling ground without a thought and he is _Daryl's_.

Shane is still looking at him, wide-eyed and lost. "He's alive," Daryl says again. "Seems to be calming down. Got some water in him. He's weak, and the ropes are holding him fine."

Shane nods, licking his hips and trapping his tongue between his teeth for a moment as he looks down, scuffs his feet against the grass. His hands don't move from his waist, keeping himself large and intimidating in his stance even though Daryl can read from the bow of his head and the slope of his shoulders that he's unsure, worried, a nervous Beta with an injured Alpha.

"Okay…good," Shane huffs, running a hand through his hair again, nails scratching through when he moves his hand forward. "And how's the -." He winces, shifts his weight, and looks up to Daryl again. "You said he was calmin' down?"

Daryl shits his weight too, from one knee to the other, and manages what he hopes is a smirk before he leans one elbow on the window and bites down on his cuticles. The shift in posture makes his body clench up again, fighting against the emptiness he feels down to the pit of his _soul_ , and he winces when another thin string of Rick's come leaks out. "Yeah. Doesn't stay calm for all that long but at least he's calm sometimes."

He hopes Shane understands what he doesn't want to say: _I'm fucking the fight out of him, you happy?_ Because this isn't how it was supposed to go. If things were _right_ , and fair, even in this shitstorm of a world they live in now, Rick and Daryl could have disappeared one night and come back the next morning, a bite on Daryl's throat and a mix of their scents that clearly explained what had happened and no one had to say another word about it.

Now it's a _thing_. It's important because they were waiting for Daryl to go into fucking Heat and now they know he can't it's basically a question of what's going to give out first; the ropes, Daryl's ass, or Rick himself. What Alphas and Omegas do isn't exactly _secret_ – Hell, he's sure the world before had a sex ed class that he'd never bothered to attend – but Daryl's a private person and doesn't exactly like the idea that everyone knows _exactly_ what he and Rick are doing in here.

Then again, they don't know. Only Shane and Dale and T-Dog know how Rick's trussed up, and even then they might not understand exactly how Daryl's calming Rick down, whether it's his ass or his hands or his mouth that he's using.

Still, it's an uncomfortable conversation, and even without seeing the exact shade of Shane's eyes he knows the Alpha doesn't want to be having it just as much as Daryl.

Shane nods to himself, his hand dropping from his hip as he looks down at the ground. "I was just about t'sleep," Daryl offers, giving the Alpha a way out they both desperately need. "Kinda tired."

"Okay, okay," Shane says, nodding again. "You need anything else?"

Daryl shakes his head and Shane bites his tongue once more, before he starts to turn away and walk around the corner of the barn. Daryl shifts his weight back, ready to settle back down and try and get some sleep. The motion causes the floorboards to creak, _loudly_ , and he freezes and sees Shane do the same below him.

Daryl closes his eyes and holds his breath, and curses to himself as Rick's low rumble breaks the silence. He's awake, and Daryl won't get the rest he needs, but he knew the price he would pay when he came up here.

Shane is still standing down there, his expression worried when he looks up and meets Daryl's eyes.

"I can order you not to," he offers, angling his body back towards the Omega, shoulders lifting in a shrug.

Daryl blinks, the corners of his mouth turning down. Yes, Shane _can_ order him not to go to Rick – can tell him to grab his things and come down and wash Rick's scent off of him and wait until his body is tight and dry again and send him back in the next dawn. He could do that.

But he's not – he's asking Daryl if he wants to. Daryl cocks his head to one side, pleased that the angry, rash man he'd first met before Rick is not the same one standing before him now. This man understands choice, and reason, and is only willing to play the bad guy if someone needs him to.

Before Daryl can respond, there's a loud cracking sound, and Rick's growl abruptly cuts off. Then, Daryl hears ragged panting – open-mouthed, loud _panting_ , and a cold shudder rolls down his spine. It halts halfway down, behind his heart where that fucking _tugging_ is, when his name splits the rhythm of the loud breaths below, claws the sound apart and pierces it through.

" _Daryl_."

It's Rick's voice – wet and low and fucked up, but it's Rick's. Daryl's eyes widen, looking to Shane even as he pushes himself to his feet because he can _feel_ it now. Rick's anger and desire had been like cloaks across his shoulders, heavy but bearable. This, now, is like being crushed under a rockslide. The man with the power to make mountains crumble is now asking for _him_ , and Daryl is no mountain, he is not the shaking Earth. He's the ocean, destined to spread and part for its master and his master is Rick.

"Shane," he croaks, just because he has to try.

Shane nods, squares his stance and tilts his chin up. " _Daryl_ ," he growls, and Daryl winces, bowing his head and pushing one hand against his temple from the force of the Alpha's voice, "come down here. Come to me."

Shane's Alpha voice is powerful, but it won't work. Daryl knows as soon as Shane speaks – the Alpha's voice is soft compared to Rick, a gentle shove instead of an all-out _tackle_ , and it hurts, feeling the pounding in his head at the same time his heart tugs backwards like it'll burst through his ribcage and leave his body behind. Daryl steps back and shakes his head. "Daryl!" Shane says again, louder this time, and Rick lets out a snarl from inside that makes Daryl's lungs tremble and seize.

"He – I have to go," he whispers, hoarse and unsteady. Shane growls, nostrils flaring and he's clearly figuring out if he has time to grab the ladder and climb up there before Daryl gets killed, but Daryl shakes his head before he can decide. "I'll whistle if I need you, okay? Don't – Don't do nothin' yet."

Shane's eyes narrow, his jaw bulging at the corners, but he nods. "We'll be around," he promises to Daryl's retreating back. Daryl hears him curse and hurry away, but then he doesn't pay attention.

"Daryl." Rick's voice is quiet but cutting, like a knife too sharp to feel slicing into Daryl's skin and sinking in jagged fishermen's hooks to pull him down. "Come here."

' _Yes,_ yes _, Alpha_ '. His whole body screams it and Daryl's hands shake as he grabs his knife from his things next to the rucksack, tucking into the back of his jeans. Maybe, if Rick doesn't talk too much, he can get him quiet and shove the stick back into his mouth. The ropes must have gotten loose, that's all – that much blood and sweat, they were bound to wiggle free. If horses could do it so could Rick.

"I'm comin'," he says, just so that Rick won't speak again, and climbs down the ladder as fast as he can. It's pitch black underneath the hayloft but Daryl's eyes are sharp and accustomed to darkness and he can make out the slightly darker silhouette of Rick, still on the ground, legs splayed out in front of him, amidst the rest of the shadows. "I'm right here, Rick." He tries to make his voice as soft and sweet as possible, steps carefully closer like he's circling a rattlesnake. "Don't talk, Rick, I'm bettin' your mouth's cut up pretty good."

He reaches out, finds the flashlight that had fizzled out before, and gives it a few good hits against his uninjured palm before it splutters back to life with a small hiss, and he sets it down again.

He freezes.

Rick hadn't wiggled out of the makeshift muzzle. The two halves have fallen on either side of his neck, and Daryl can see a third piece, chewed and mangled, fallen onto one of Rick's thighs. He'd _chewed through the thing_ , and his gums are bloody and there are splinters in his lips and between his teeth, but he's free.

He turns to look at Daryl, eyes wild and red, and bares his teeth in a grin.

Daryl takes a deep, slow breath, and tries not to let his heartbeat get the best of him. Rick's stubble is coated in blood and there's a thick streak of it down his chin and throat from his bloodied tongue and it matches the red of his eyes. Daryl reaches behind himself, grabs for the knife.

Rick licks his lips, gaze raking down Daryl's body hotter than coals, and he arches his body up against the ropes, predatory and fine and his voice is a purr; "Untie me, Daryl."

"Rick." Daryl's voice breaks. "Please." _Don't_.

His fingers wrap around the handle of his knife, but gun to head he's not sure if he means to pull it on Rick and tell him to keep quiet or obey his Alpha and slice right through the ropes keeping him at bay. Daryl fights it – it was a gentle order, easier to overcome – but he finds himself taking a step forward all the same, watching Rick's mouth pull into a slow, dark smile.

Rick pulls on the ropes again, a soft growl rumbling in his chest. "Untie me," he says again, spitting out another wad of bloody saliva into the scattered hay between them. "Don't think about it, just come over here. M'not gonna hurt you."

' _Obey_ ', Daryl's mind whispers to him. And, God, how he wants to. He wants to plaster himself up against his Alpha, nuzzle at his throat and let Rick groom him, cover him with his scent until they wear themselves down to bones and dust. He slides the knife out of the back of his jeans.

Rick's eyes rake up and down again, greedy and glowing red. He doesn't even look at the knife. He's all Alpha, _feral_ , but he's lucid enough to speak and the Rutters have never been able to do that. In that way, they're like the Walkers. And Rick is talking to him, which means Rick can _see_ him and knows he's there.

"What're you gonna do?" Daryl asks, taking another step forward. He's right up against Rick now, Rick tilting his head back to rest against the wooden beam, his eyes gone half-lidded now and his smile lax and _playful_ , God it hurts to look at him and see the blood and the mess of his mouth. "If I let you go, what're you gonna do?" He swallows, tightens his grip until his knuckles whiten and his palm hurts. "You got a pack out there, Rick; I can't let you hurt them."

Rick laughs – a deep and throaty sound – and tilts his head away, exposing the arc of his neck, his jawline standing out starkly in the shadows cast by the flashlight. Daryl can see the redness around his ropes, knows he'll probably be bruised and chafed raw.

"Rick," he says again when the Alpha doesn't answer.

Rick's eyes flash to him, the red duller now like a fire waiting to rage. It's not a dead fire like the one Daryl sees when Rick is exhausted and fucked out and barely clinging to consciousness – this look has claws and prowls through dark undergrowth, waiting for the right moment to lunge.

"So what're you gonna do?"

Daryl keeps his knife low, close to Rick's throat just in case he needs it, but Rick isn't even looking at it – he turns his head back, meets Daryl's gaze straight, and bares his teeth in a snarl. " _Daryl_ ," he growls, the ropes creaking again as he strains against them. Daryl takes a step back and Rick lunges as best he can and Daryl feels the snarl right down to his bones.

"Take that knife, cut these ropes, and _let me out_ ," Rick commands, and it is a command now and Daryl can't fight it more than he can fight an incoming lightning storm. He bows his head and bites back the pathetic sound he wants to make. He's made his Alpha angry and he _knows_ it's just the Omega in him, the part that has bonded and wants to obey, that wants to fall to his knees and offer his belly and throat to appease Rick, but Rick has given him an order and he _can't_ fight it.

He's ready to whistle, just in case. If Shane needs to put them both down then – then that's the way it's gotta be.

He slides the knife between the wooden beam and the rope that's around Rick's throat first. It cuts easily, too wet to maintain its strength, but even so it takes him a few minutes to completely saw the thing apart. Rick sighs, rolling his head forward and back, and Daryl winces at the cracking sound it makes. Rick coughs, spitting out another wad of bloody saliva, and heaves in a deep breath.

Daryl makes short work of the other ropes, his body tensing up more and more the further Rick comes free. He wants to _fight it_ , but he can't – Rick has commanded him, his Alpha _needs_ him to obey, and he will because that's what he was made to do: follow Rick, obey Rick, _and love_ Rick.

When the last rope falls free Daryl shoves himself to his feet and holds the knife out between him and Rick. It won't do shit if Rick tells him to lower it but it's the thought that counts. Rick's hands come forward and he rubs at his wrists. They're purple with bruising and must be sore to the touch, and Rick winces when he rolls them. Then, his eyes snap up, wild and red, and the Alpha shoves himself to unsteady feet.

' _He's weak_ ,' Daryl tells himself, ' _you can fight him if you have to_ '.

"Rick," he says weakly as the Alpha advances on him, holding his knife higher. "What're you gonna do?"

Rick makes a quiet shushing sound, one bruised arm coming up to push at the back of Daryl's knuckles, forcing him to lower his knife. It's not even a spoken command, and Daryl is _fucked_ because he finds himself obeying it anyway. His body shakes under the weight of Rick's gaze, flooding with warmth like Rick is physically pushing it into him.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Rick says with the same tone of voice that men will use when they most certainly are going to hurt you, and Daryl forces himself to growl softly, forces himself to hold Rick's gaze and watch every movement when a far larger part of him – the part that can _smell_ Rick on him and smell him on Rick and feels the come still sticking to his thighs and remembers how it had felt to have the Alpha's knot stretching him wide – wants to believe him. He wants to push his face to Rick's bruised throat and inhale and lick and _whine_.

But maybe he can distract both of them – give himself what he wants _and_ what Rick needs at the same time. _Charm_ the serpent crawling into his den, act sweet to the wolf that's snarling at him.

So he drops his shoulders and lowers his eyes, lets his hair hide them and reaches out, gently takes Rick's wrist in his fingers and runs his hand up Rick's arm. "You wanna fuck me again, Rick?" he asks, hates how the words sound in his mouth and fights the urge to spit them, but he _wants_ it. It's going to hurt, his ass is sore and used and he's not sure Rick's head is clear enough to know if the come still inside of him is Rick's or not, but he has to try – anything to distract the fact that there are other Alphas out there, and the rest of his _pack_ , and Daryl can't let Rick get it into his head to go outside. He drops the knife and steps closer, lets his voice get high and soft and earning an answering rumble from his Alpha; "I'll let you. Spread my legs and take it for you if that's what you want."

" _Yes_." Rick's eyes flash and he lunges forward, grabs Daryl tight around the waist and pushes their bodies together so hard that they go stumbling backwards and Daryl hisses as his back hits the wall next to the ladder leading to the hayloft.

Daryl swallows hard and lets the knife drop, sure now that it'll only cause more harm than good if he were to keep a hold of it. One of Rick's hands fists in his hair and yanks Daryl's head to one side hard enough to make the Omega wince and tense up, his hands fisting in Rick's shirt around his shoulders, ready to shove him off if Rick starts biting him.

Rick leans in and Daryl's heart is flying. This is it – Rick's going to bite him and kill him, or bite him and mate with him so brutally Daryl's not sure he's going to be able to walk afterwards. It's going to hurt, but if it makes Rick better then Daryl will take it all. He _asked_ to do this, because the alternative is unthinkable, and if they both crawl out the other side then they'll deal with it. Daryl can't let himself think about anything further than this moment, this second, with Rick's teeth scraping across his neck.

Rick's other hand drags down Daryl's flank, grips his hip tight enough to bruise.

He lets out a rumbling purr that Daryl feels against his own chest and Daryl gasps when Rick's tongue runs thick and wet across his neck. Daryl knows what he'll taste there – sweat, come, the stench of a used Omega amidst the subtler scent of the hay and Rick himself. He shivers at the feeling, the lightning-strike right down his spine that the possessiveness of the act causes in him.

"Rick," he whispers, sliding his hands across his Alpha's shoulders in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. Rick purrs again, pressing himself up close to Daryl so that Daryl can feel every line of him and Daryl shivers again, his eyes closing when Rick drags his teeth down the tendon in Daryl's neck until he meets his shirt.

Rick growls, the hand at Daryl's hip rucking his shirt up and tearing at it. "Get this off," Rick orders, his voice a whip across Daryl's eyes, startling him to action. "Take it _off_. Gonna – _mine_ , gotta see what's _mine_."

"Rick it's okay," Daryl whispers, tearing at his shirt until his skin is bare for Rick's hungry gaze and burning hands. Rick blinks at the scars, another growl crushing the air between them, but then Rick is back with his mouth at Daryl's neck, slicking him with blood and spit and Daryl grits his teeth, parts his legs for Rick to slide between and really start grinding. "It's okay, Alpha, m'right here. Not goin' anywhere."

" _No_ ," Rick snarls, and pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together. It's not a gentle touch, but forces Daryl's head back and Rick lets go of his hair to instead cup his neck, his thumb cradling Daryl's Adam's apple and squeezing just a little. "No, you're not," Rick hisses, his teeth showing, and they look so sharp, colored red and glinting in the light from the flashlight. " _Kill_ you if you leave me again."

"I won't," Daryl promises. ' _It's just Rut_ ', he tells himself. ' _This ain't Rick'._ Rick would never control him like that – that's one of the reasons Daryl adores him so completely. Rick isn't an Alpha to keep his Omega cooped up and chained to the house, if they even had a home to call their own anymore. Daryl is wild and so is Rick and they _need_ that, they need to roam and chase and scatter and know that they'll always come back to each other with their noses to the ground and their eyes sharply following each other's trail. "C'mon Alpha, I know I'm yours. Let me prove it to you."

" _Daryl_." How one man can say his name with such worship, Daryl will never know. Rick closes his eyes, licks his bruised mouth, and pulls them both from the wall and tackles Daryl onto the floor, on his back with Rick prowling over him like a looming tiger. Daryl pushes at Rick's clothing, hikes his legs up to shove at Rick's jeans with his bare feet until they shuffle down and free Rick's cock. Rick hums, apparently pleased, and leans down to lick at Daryl's filthy hair and face as Daryl works to get his own jeans down and off of him so that they can fuck.

Rick rears back, his hands greedy when they blaze a trail down Daryl's body and Daryl bites the inside of his lower lip, hoping that Rick doesn't notice that he's not slick like he should be. He's not even hard yet, probably won't get there until Rick starts really pounding into him and lighting up that spot inside of him that feels so good when it's touched, but so far Rick has been too out of it to notice.

It's going to hurt again, and Daryl can already feel the calm sweep over him – the gentle edge of silence to waiting for a war cry, the quiet before the storm. He reaches up and pulls Rick to lie on top of him, the Alpha bracing himself, heavy and hot, across Daryl's body.

"Fuck me, Rick," he demands, cupping Rick's head so that the Alpha can't look anywhere but his eyes. Daryl spreads his legs and arches his hips up, eyelids fluttering when he feels Rick's precome-slick cock sliding between his dirty thighs, press bluntly at his ass. "Mm – come on."

He can't say the other word. _Mate_. It means too much, and he doesn't want to say it when Rick's looking at him like that, like he might still rip Daryl's throat out for good measure after he's got his knot stuck and tight. Rick lifts his upper lip and rests their foreheads together, their noses brushing and eyes too close to focus and Daryl can just see out of the corner of his vision when Rick pulls a hand back and pushes at the head of his cock until it finds Daryl's hole and catches and starts to sink in.

Daryl locks up, a fine tremor running up his body as Rick's cock penetrates him. It goes easier than it did the first time, come and lube slicking the way and Daryl's body hadn't really had time to recover from the last knotting, but it's so different now.

Different because Daryl can _see_ Rick – see his eyes flash and widen as he sinks himself deep into Daryl's body. He can feel Rick's shoulders tense and bunch up, feel how he shoves his knees under Daryl's thighs to get him to spread wider and fuck deeper. He feels one of Rick's hands grab his hip for leverage, working him onto Rick's cock as Rick growls, tilts his head back and blinks up at the ceiling. He looks like he loses himself in it, caught in the tight clench of Daryl's body and the heat stuck between them like something physical, magnetism or collision.

Daryl digs his nails into Rick's shoulders and back, grits his teeth as Rick rocks his hips like he can fuck his way through Daryl's entire body. His back burns against the cement, the surface too dry and rough to be comfortable, but it's so much better than ropes and Daryl feels _hot_ , that feeling that comes from being tied to Rick already starting in the base of his spine and flaring outward.

He trembles and murmurs a soft 'Fuck' when Rick pulls out and shoves back in, driving him against the ground with the same intent and skill of a meteor. Daryl clenches around him, letting out a soft sound as Rick's cock fills him, his body burning and aching and so, _so_ sore but wanting it all the same.

Rick looks down at him, his free arm bracing against the ground as he leans down and covers Daryl, nosing at his neck as he starts a rhythm that lacks power but goes deep and makes Daryl feel like he's going to turn to dust under Rick's strong thrusts. Daryl makes another sound, louder this time, something desperate and wanting as he grabs at Rick's sweaty hair and threads his fingers through. Rick looks at him like he's something wonderful, even half-lost to Rut.

"You feel so good," he growls, thrusting deep and grinding until Daryl grunts, his hips arching up as that spot inside of him is finally found and teased, the heat in his spine rushing downward  to his cock as it starts to fill. "Fuckin' – _mine_. _My_ Omega. _Daryl_."

"Yours," Daryl replies, because Rick needs to hear it and Daryl needs to _say_ it. He wraps one leg around Rick's waist and digs his nails in deeper, earning a low growl from the Alpha above him. "And you're _mine_."

Rick blinks at him, leaning down again, his mouth open and dragging wetly across Daryl's lips. A sound leaves him that feels like a purr but sounds like a moan, sending a shiver down Daryl's spine. "Yes," Rick says quietly, his hand gentling on Daryl's hip and leaving a red mark behind that will undoubtedly fade into something yellow and lasting. "So beautiful, wanna be yours, Daryl. Wanna be – ours, _fuck_. _Ours_."

It has to be Rick speaking. No Rutter would be talking like that. Hope blossoms in Daryl's chest as fiercely as the desire and he has no mind to stop it, to control it before it breaks out of him. Without thinking he pulls Rick's head to one side and leans up, sinks his teeth into the Alpha's neck so deeply that he can feel Rick's racing pulse against his lips.

Rick immediately freezes, his shoulders and back shaking. He _howls_ , a wolf with a rival at his throat, and turns his head to push Daryl's bite away. Daryl's teeth have left a red, raw mark around the rope burns on Rick's neck, and Daryl doesn't even think about tilting his jaw to one side and letting Rick leave a mating mark of his own.

Rick's teeth sink into Daryl's neck at the same time his cock slams deep and starts to swell, the knot locking them tightly together on the barn floor. Daryl moans, reaching into the damp space between their bodies and stroking his cock, tight and quick.

A mating bite is supposed to be given at the height of sex, when the euphoria drowns out the pain of it. Daryl has no orgasm to dull his nerves, not yet, so he feels it and he knows Rick felt his as well – it's fitting, he thinks, as Rick pulls back and licks hotly over his mark, that even a mating for them would be fraught with pain and danger.

Rick is purring loudly now, rubbing his already bloodied mouth against Daryl's neck, smearing their blood between them, his hips jerking in little hitches as his knot seats itself in Daryl's body right before he starts to come. He doesn't go boneless this time, like the first time they knotted, but rears back again and runs his hands down Daryl's body with something close to reverence.

He knocks Daryl's hand away from his cock and starts to stroke it himself, a pleased smile crossing his lips when Daryl sucks in a breath and arches into the touch, his body caught between the aching tug of the knot and the tight, promising pressure of Rick's hand.

Daryl's neck hurts like a bitch and he can taste Rick on his tongue, and that's how he comes – tense and so tight his ass _aches_ and his back bows so suddenly he's scared something might crack before he comes back down. Rick's purring, if anything, grows louder, and he smears his palm through Daryl's come and rubs it onto his neck like Daryl did before.

Daryl hums, his eyes heavy-lidded, his whole body more relaxed than he's been in a while. Rick's eyes are still red, but softer now and not with that catlike, hunting quality to his gaze anymore.

Rick blinks at him, nostrils flaring as he breathes deep, and looms over Daryl again, one hand with its palm flat against the cement by Daryl's head, the other cupping his neck over the bite. "Want you on your knees next time," he says, his voice thrumming with power and the Alpha compulsion to be obeyed. Daryl moans, tilts his head back to give Rick more room to grab, and his stomach clenches in response to feeling Rick's cock twitch and dump another load of come inside of him. If he could he's sure he'd be pregnant already – there's no way he wouldn't be. "Then, want you on top, riding me – want to _feel_ you own me."

Daryl sucks in a sharp breath, wondering how an Alpha can say such a thing even with his hand around Daryl's throat and his knot stuck deep. But that's _Rick_ – the man who can kill the dead and revitalize the living, who can make other Alphas bow to him easy as anything and yet keeps his head cool enough to know when he's been beat.

Daryl reaches up and touches his fingertips to one corner of Rick's mouth. There's a blister there and probably a piece of branch lodged under it. It's going to be painful to remove and it looks as raw and red as the rest of him.

"Anything you want, Rick," he says, and he means it, because this is his Alpha and Daryl loves him, because Rick can and will give Daryl what he needs, without question, with the same kind of fervor with which men go to war.

 

 

 

 

Daryl's knees and palms are bloodied, his hair is a mess of grease and sweat and probably come and spit by this point too, with how much Rick likes to groom him when they're knotted tight together or when he's waiting to go again.

The cement floor is not forgiving and after the second knot on his hands and knees he's starting to get to the point where he's no longer able to ignore the pain. Rick grunts behind him, and Daryl has heard enough by now to know exactly what Rick sounds like when he's close, so he closes his eyes and clenches down as tight as he can around Rick's cock as the Alpha fucks into him like he's trying to carve a permanent space for himself within Daryl's body.

 _Finally,_ the knot starts to swell, catching on Daryl's swollen rim as Rick fucks in one more time and starts to come with a low snarl. His nails are digging into Daryl's hips and he's drawn blood or is damn near close to it, and Daryl can't help himself; he whines, pushing up onto his toes and dropping down to his elbows just to try and get some relief from his hands and knees.

Rick notices and bends over him, plastering his chest to Daryl's back and running a hand slightly too hard through Daryl's hair. "You okay?" he asks, his voice raspy.

Daryl nods. "Just, rough floor," he replies.

Rick immediately pulls back – a little too suddenly in Daryl's opinion, since his knot tugs way too harshly on Daryl's insides before Rick's hands get with the program and help him up – and rolls them onto their sides. He tugs at one of Daryl's hands and frowns at the blood, and Daryl can't even muster the energy to look behind him as Rick lets out a low, unpleasant sound and starts to lick his palm clean.

How Rick has lasted so long Daryl has no idea – he can still feel Rick spilling into him every time, and he has to wonder if it's because the Rut is dying and desperate to impregnate Daryl before it fades away, or if he's making it worse and it won't stop until Daryl is pregnant.

They sleep once throughout the entire second day, and Daryl is sure it isn't for longer than an hour. He's thirsty and hunger is gnawing at his stomach and it must be so much worse for Rick, but he can't convince the Alpha to stop for long enough to eat or drink. The Rut is weakening them both, it's going to _kill_ them both, and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

 

 

 

 

Rick finally passes out as dusk is coloring the sky on the second day. It's getting cold and Daryl instinctively seeks Rick out for warmth, but he forces himself to pull away as soon as the Alpha's breathing evens out into something deep and steady.

As soon as he stands, enough come leaks out of him that it almost feels like he pissed himself, and he grimaces in disgust and finds the half-empty bottle of water from that first day, splashing it down his lower back and his thighs to try and wipe some of it away. It doesn't work, and just feels as though the come clings to him now, lodged in his body hair and soaked into his skin.

When the thing is empty he flings it away, shaking his head hard. He feels _disgusting_ , and so defeated. He'd never thought he'd feel this way again, not after his daddy breathed his last and left Daryl with aching wounds that would never fully heal and a loyalty ingrained into him to follow worthy men into the pit of Hell. He'd follow Rick, he knows, but he can't stay anymore. This Rut is going to _kill_ them if they keep going like this.

The defeat weighs on him like an iron cloak, and he can barely walk but he makes it over to his jeans and gingerly puts his feet into each leg before pulling them up. His knees hurt to the touch and his hands protest the use, and his back aches from bending and tensing and staying still so that Rick could take his aggression out on his body. Daryl finds a soft, weak satisfaction in knowing he was right: no one else could have handled Rick like this.

Everything hurts almost past the point of pain into delirium, and he can't help thinking that Merle would have just the shit to make him feel better. Daryl never got addicted but that doesn't mean he didn't try the stuff, when his soul had sunk so low that he thought he'd never fly again without the help.

Being with Rick is like the high and the withdrawal all wrapped into one; his body fights the idea of never having it again even as he shakes with the come-down. His shirt is in tatters so he leaves it, retrieves his knife because like Hell is he leaving that down here, and climbs the ladder as slowly and quietly as he can.

He grabs the rucksack and empties it, carries down three water bottles and all of the food – the bread is a lost cause but the jelly will work and the jerky is still fine – and he leaves them close to Rick for when he wakes up. Then, body protesting every movement, he forces himself back up the ladder. The thin rope Dale gave him is still there and he manages to rig a decent enough line that he can slide down. His bruised and bloodied palms burn on the thin twine but the extra pain is negligible, pointless when compared to everything else.

The cold air stings the wound on his neck, made worse by the strap of his crossbow digging in, and his feet are bare and his toes curl against the moist, freezing grass. Daryl closes his eyes and cuts the knot in the rope enough that it's loose, so that Rick can't climb down it too – if he's lucid enough to talk he might be lucid enough to climb – and then he takes the crossbow off and collapses against the barn, his back to the old wood, his knees drawn up so he can brace his elbows against them.

He pushes the backs of his hands against his eyes, and lets out a single sob. He lets himself feel the pains, the aches and furrows dug deep into his body, the way his ass still throbs like Rick's knot is still stuck in him, desperate for the fullness but so sore and bruised that Daryl doesn't know if he'll ever be able to take a knot again. His hands tremble and he flexes his fingers and lets himself feel the fire-ant bite of pain in each knuckle, in the scraps on his palms, in the brush of denim across his knees. He lets his back go lax and liquid like his bones have been pulverized to nothing, crushed under the weight of such brutal sex. He lets his neck _burn_ , lets it remind him that no matter what happens it won't be over. He's is _Rick's_ , now, and Rick is his, they're mated and bonded and even now, with his throat thick and his eyes clenched tightly shut he wants to crawl to his Alpha and howl until Rick wakes and finds him.

_Kill you if you leave me again._

He tilts his head back and swallows back the lump in his throat, the pressure behind his eyes. He lets the calm wash over him, presses his emotions and his hurts and his thoughts down like holding a head under water, and he opens his eyes and stares up into the night sky for a moment, and lets himself breathe.

Then, he licks his lips and tightens his mouth, and whistles.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I AM A TRASH PILE. So this chapter got to 10k and I'm still not finished.
> 
> I mean the story itself is finished, but it's not done. I guess. The main issue gets resolved so I guess you could see the last part as like an epilogue? But yeah, I've learned my lesson - I'm never going to predict the length of a fic ever again.
> 
> Enjoy!

Shane comes around the corner forty-three seconds after Daryl whistles. Daryl knows because he counted, timed his breaths to every third tick of an imaginary clock.

Glenn is right there with him, rifle slung casually over his back, and they both freeze when they see Daryl.

"Holy shit," Shane breathes, his wide eyes dark and flashing red in what Daryl assumes is anger and outrage at seeing one of his pack members so mercilessly brutalized. Daryl scoffs, lifts his hand to his mouth to bite at the cuticles and winces when the movement makes the bite on his neck burn – it will be there forever now, a red flame leading straight to his soul to tie him to his Alpha. He's caged, caught on a line, everything he'd never hoped he would be and he can't even find the energy to be angry about it.

Glenn steps forward and holds out a hand, and Daryl slaps his forearm into it and lets Glenn haul him to his feet, his other hand grabbing his crossbow and shouldering it again so that that strap covers most of the blood from the bite.

"Fuck you," he says, and his voice is rough and thick and he still feels the heat behind his eyes that might be tears or might be Omega gold, he's not sure and he doesn't want to know. "Fuck you for doin' that to him."

Shane blinks, his nostrils flaring, and he puts his hands on his hips. "Is he…?"

He can't say it. Daryl wants to spit the words at him. "Is he _dead_?" he hisses, his anger finding him now, rising up like a crocodile splitting still waters and lunging for the throat of an unsuspecting wildebeest. "Did I _kill_ him? That what you wanna know?"

Shane presses his lips together, bites his tongue, and nods.

Coward can't even say the words back at him. Daryl laughs, softly and without humor, and rolls his shoulders. Every part of him aches down to his core, and he's filthy and _stinks_ and Glenn lets him go, takes a step back, his sharp and solemn eyes taking in everything. Daryl hates what he knows Glenn can see – the blood and sweat in his hair, the bites on his neck, the bruises around his wrists and on his palms, the marks on his knees where the scabs are bleeding through his jeans. He looks _used_ , just as much a whore as biology has programmed him to be.

Rick has never made him feel this way before – like he's worthless, torn up and cast aside even though Daryl was the one who ran, who couldn't handle something as simple as _sex_. His fingers curl and he lowers his chin to glare down at the ground.

"I can't," he says, the fight leaving him as quickly as heat from the ground once the sun sets. He feels cold, now, lost without his Alpha, that damn _tug_ still sitting right behind his heart and demanding he go back to warm his Alpha's body with his own before Rick notices he's gone. "I – the ropes're cut. He's gonna get out."

"We'll deal with it," Shane says.

"I couldn't do it," Daryl whispers, his throat stuck on a whine. He's not sure which he means – couldn't cure Rick, couldn't save him, couldn't put him down like he'd promised he would if he failed. He's failed them all and Rick is going to get out and slaughter everyone and it's going to be Daryl's fault.

Or he'll have to watch his mate get put down right in front of him. Christ, no wonder Alphas snapped and Rutted. Daryl can barely see when he thinks about it.

Shane sighs, shakes his head, and scratches his nails through his hair. "We'll deal with it," he repeats, the words so final and sad. Then, he jerks his head back around the corner of the barn, towards the house. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Daryl nods, following dumbly behind as Shane turns to walk back to the house. Glenn remains, his fingers white on the gun when he reaches back to swing it around to a ready position.

It makes Daryl pause. "You gonna put him down if he gets out?" he asks, and is amazed how steady his voice sounds when the rest of him _howls_ against the very thought.

Glen presses his lips together and rolls his shoulders. He's an Alpha, like Shane and Rick and Dale, but he's gentler in nature and not one that would be pegged as Alpha at first glance. Finally, Glenn shakes his head. "Not if I can help it," he says, the words flat. "Knock him out if I have to, if I can – if not, I guess…at least I'll be the first warning."

"You can't do that," Daryl protests, turning back to face Glenn fully. Glenn just presses his lips together again. "You're first in line for every idiot decision this group does – can't let him hurt you. I can -."

"You've done enough," Glenn says, holding up a hand. He shakes his head, breathing out loud and hollow. "Christ, Daryl, you're dead on your feet. Just go get cleaned up and we can talk about it all however you want, okay? He's…asleep, right?"

Daryl shifts his weight, winces when every part of him screams at the motion. "Yeah," he says awkwardly, crossing his arms over his bare chest. It's much colder outside than it is in the barn, and the sun is just starting to rise but hasn't quite managed to warm the air yet. "Yeah, fine."

Shane huffs, but this time when he turns away Daryl follows him. It's too early for everyone to be awake and Daryl is glad that the whole pack doesn't have to see him like this, bloody and bruised and fucked to within an inch of his life. Carl doesn't need to know what his father is capable of. Lori doesn't need to see marks of Rick's passion on another person. The _pack_ shouldn't have to know just what kind of savagery their leader will do under provocation towards one of their own.

Shane makes sure no one is up before he ushers Daryl into the house. "I'm gonna grab you some clothes. Shower and we'll get whatever needs looked at sorted out, okay?" he asks, and he's speaking with shallow breaths as though he doesn't want to inhale too deeply. Daryl understands – he stinks of Rick's Rut and he's sure that's not a pleasant smell to another Alpha, even one as closely bonded to Rick as Shane is.

"If he comes for me," Daryl starts, and then lets the words drift off into a sigh. He shakes his head and runs his aching fingers through his hair, wincing when they tug on knots of blood and spit and come threaded through the greasy strands. "Fuck. He's gonna wake up. He doesn't sleep for long."

"We'll deal with it," Shane says, and Daryl is really getting tired of hearing that piece-of-shit cop-out.

He growls at Shane, lifting his upper lip to show his teeth that are still red-lined with Rick's blood. Shane blinks at the gesture, and Daryl can see the instinct rising up in him, in the square shape of his shoulders and the quick intake of his breath. "What _exactly_ does that mean?" Daryl asks, his words a quiet hiss; "You gonna muzzle him again? His mouth is _fucked_ 'cause of that bullshit you pulled, Walsh. Not to mention whatever he did to himself with the ropes. There were fuckin' _bruises_."

"Better him than us," Shane replies, the words sounding so final, like the thump of dirt across a coffin. It's a tone Daryl has heard before, but it's been so long (or it feels like it's been so long) that he had forgotten it.

"You're not my Alpha," he says, and Shane nods as though he hadn't even considered the possibility that Daryl would bow to him anyway. "Whatever Rick does, you know I gotta obey. I _gotta_."

And he hates it, really he does, because if Rick is so far gone he doesn't recognize Carl, or Lori, or Shane or any of the rest of his family, then Daryl will be no better than the holster for his gun – another tool to use when Rick decides to turn his weapons and his fury on them.

He steps back away from the open bathroom door. "I should go back to him," he says, shaking his head. "He'll be so pissed when he wakes up and I'm not there."

"Daryl -."

"I _gotta_." Shane's not an Omega. He'd never understand this kind of thing, but Daryl's lungs feel like they're burning and the bite on his neck throbs in time with his unsteady heart, and he feels like his spine is being pulled out from his back and through his skin, back towards the barn. "If I can protect our pack, I gotta do whatever it takes."

"Daryl." Shane holds a hand out this time to physically stop him. He curls it too tight around Daryl's bicep but Daryl doesn't even flinch. He's not even sure his body would know to react to touch when it's not Rick's. It's like Shane is touching something just shy of his skin – he can feel the warmth but not the pressure. "You're part of the pack, too. You're worth protectin' just as much as the rest of us."

Daryl shakes his head.

Shane huffs through his nose and rubs his hand over his mouth, still keeping a hold of Daryl with his other one. "Damn, you're a stubborn son of a bitch, ain'tcha?" he says, mostly to himself. "Look, you need antibiotics, we need to clean that bite, and you need to have a minute where you can regroup and we can look at this _the smart way_. I don't like it any more than you do but – fuck, man, it doesn't look like your plan is working."

The words make Daryl flinch, a wounded sound stuck in the back of his throat.

"I just need more time," he whispers.

"And we can give you that," Shane promises, and finally lets go. "Look, the longer you take to clean up the higher the chance that Rick wakes up with you gone, and the more this house is gonna stink to the point where this is the first place he'll come lookin', right? You even ate, slept since you walked in?"

Daryl hesitates, and then shakes his head. "Nothin' substantial."

Shane nods. " _Shower_ , eat, let Herschel make sure you're not gonna die of tetanus or some shit, and let's talk about this, okay?"

There's no decision, really. Shane isn't Daryl's Alpha but he's an Alpha all the same, and there's enough order in his voice that without Rick's presence, Daryl's shoulders go lax and he melts into it. It's nice not to have to stay tense and ready – at least for the five minutes he's showering he'll be able to really take stock of his wounds and his aches and figure out how to continue with them, and he won't have to look over his shoulder and make sure he's not vulnerable to attack.

Shane traps his tongue between his teeth for a long moment, before he nods, apparently satisfied that Daryl will obey him. He steps to the side and lets Daryl through and murmurs that he'll bring Daryl some more clothes. Daryl lets his crossbow drop outside of the bathroom and steps over the threshold and lets the door close behind him.

He immediately starts the water, giving it time to get warm enough that the mirror fogs and he knows that the water is going to be scalding, and quickly sheds his clothes and his knife. The mirror is fogged up enough that Daryl can't see his reflection well and he doesn't bother to look – just steps under the spray with a sharp hiss at the heat and starts to scrub at his skin like it burns him.

His hands hurt. His knuckles are bruised and his palm still has scabbing cuts from breaking the glass in his hand. His wrists have bruises from Rick's hands and he can even see the gaps in his fingers, can pretend he sees Rick's fucking _fingerprints_ embedded in his skin if he tries hard enough.

His shoulders are sore but they're not injured. He has splinters across his neck and in his hair and he picks them out carefully, watching the water turn pink as the blood is washed out. His neck, tacky before, feels cleaner and raw as he washes the semen caked onto his skin away. He has to scratch at parts, as Rick's mark doesn't want to let go of him so easily, but he manages to feel reasonably clean after.

His knees are a mess of purple and yellowing marks from bracing himself against the cement floor. His hips have nail marks and bruises from Rick's hands; his feet are dirty and covered in mud. The soles are tender from walking on cement and grass and balancing carefully in the hayloft. He cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders again and raises his arms above his head, letting the stretch pull his entire body apart before relaxing with a sigh.

He uses the least offensive-smelling shampoo he can find. He's pretty sure Lori and Carol share it but he can't be sure – he's not sure he'll ever be able to smell anything again without some part of Rick edging his senses. Even clean and under burning water he can smell the Alpha, aches for him with a suddenness and severity that it feels like he can't breathe.

He closes his eyes and bites the inside of his lower lip. "Rick," he whispers, bowing his head and letting the hot water beat down on the back of his neck and down his sore shoulders. There are parts of his skin that burn – must be nail marks or bite marks from Rick fucking him, marks he didn't pay attention to. Or they're the burns from riding him with the rope around his chest, or from being fucked into the barn floor without mercy.

"Rick, it hurts," he says just as quietly, and imagines the Alpha can hear him. If things were better, were _right_ , Daryl would be able to be vulnerable like this around his Alpha. Rick could hold him, run hands that are gentle and soft across his aches and rumble softly, like a purr, until Daryl calmed and melted against him. He could close his eyes and let Rick kiss him, pet through his hair with just the right amount of pressure, feel every line of his Alpha's body pressed tight against his, close and comforting and acting as a shelter instead of the possessive, rough claim that it had needed to be.

It would be ' _Stay,_ _I'll take care of you_ ' and not ' _Kill you if you leave me_ '.

Daryl sucks in a shuddering breath and paws the shower off, grabbing a thin brown towel and rubbing it over his hair to try and dry out the long strands so they won't drip down while he dresses himself. There's a soft knock on the door and then footsteps going away and Daryl assumes that it's Shane leaving clothes behind. He steps out of the shower just long enough to open the bathroom door and pull the offering inside.

It's clothes – a pair of his jeans and one of his sleeveless shirts, plain black and clean. There's also a brush (Carol's, if he recognizes it correctly) and a bottle of Advil. Daryl huffs, shaking his head. Yes, it hurts, but if Shane thinks Daryl's gonna take this shit with thin blood and an empty stomach he's really underestimated Daryl's stubbornness.

Daryl needs the pain, anyway, because Rick is suffering and Daryl's pain reminds him of that. Rick needs his help and Daryl must suffer to help him. That's how it works – giving everything of himself and hoping that there is still something left to save when it's all over.

The bathroom mirror clears quickly, to his surprise, and Daryl blinks at the fuzzy outline of his reflection. He reaches out and wipes the towel across the mirror, clearing it somewhat even though the result is streaky. At least it's no longer blurred out.

He's sure he didn't look great beforehand, but now he knows what he looks like – _used_. Even with a shower there are marks on his neck and dark circles under his eyes. His lips are still slightly too pink, abused and sore and colored with Rick's blood.

And the _bite_.

"Fuck," he whispers, pressing shaking fingers to it. It's angry-red and huge, easily taking up one side of his neck. His hair won't hide it, and neither will the collar of his shirt. Even the gentlest touch sends shards of aching pain across his back like he's carrying the weight of eons on his shoulders. He's fighting thousands of years of instinct and evolution, running from the man who gave him this mark, and he feels the weight of that now more than ever. " _Fuck_."

He dresses quickly; glad at least for this small barrier that will protect the worst of it from eyes that really shouldn't see. He can't do anything about his bruised wrists and the ugly bite on his neck, but he'll have to just deal with it. He hopes Carl and Sophia are still asleep when he goes downstairs. The pups don't need to see Daryl like this, knowing it was their Alpha who did it to him.

He flips the collar up on his shirt to hide what he can and runs the towel over his head one more time before hanging it back up to dry out. He leaves the brush and Advil behind and opens the door as quietly as possible. There is a single light visible down the stairs and he paces towards it, trying his best to make as little sound as he can so as not to wake anyone.

Shane is in the dining room when he rounds the corner. Lori is at his right hand, Dale at his left, the older man turned to face Daryl as he appears in the doorway. Shane has a hand over his mouth, his brows drawn together in concern and he's looking at the table, doesn't even look up as Daryl takes a seat at the other end of the table, in Herschel's usual chair. T-Dog comes from the kitchen to sit beside Lori as well, and the Alpha's eyes widen as he takes in Daryl's appearance.

"Damn," he breathes, and shakes his head. Daryl looks at the bruise he gave T-Dog the day Rick first got locked up instead of at his eyes. His face is swollen a little and it makes his skin look more purple than it should. Daryl really did a number on him from that one hit. "How ya feelin'?"

Daryl snorts and shakes his head. "'Bout as good as you look," he replies. Shane makes a low sound, half angry and half wounded, and rubs his hand over his mouth before he lowers it with a sigh. His skin is a little white when his hand moves, the pressure robbing it of color before it fades back to normal.

"Rick's not gettin' better," he says, cutting right to the chase.

Lori's eyes widen, so fucking sad and hopeful at the same time when she turns to look at Daryl. Daryl shifts his weight, wincing when his joints protest. Fuck, he shouldn't have sat down. His ass aches more than he'd thought it would and Herschel's chair is anything but forgiving.

"Is this true?" she asks, her voice soft and begging Daryl to disagree with Shane.

But he can't. If he'd stayed in that barn they'd have kept Rutting until they wore down to dust and torn flesh. He swallows hard, winces again when the motion makes his neck flare. "I…don't know," he says slowly, lowering his eyes to glare at a dark knot in the wooden table. "I mean, he's lucid, he's talking. He _responds_ to things I say -."

"Wait, he's talking?" Dale asks, his eyes wide. "What about the branch?

Shane nods. "Got out of it somehow."

"He bit through it," Daryl hisses, but doesn't otherwise move. "Gnawed through that stick _you fuckers_ put in his mouth. Ordered me to cut him loose. He's -." He lifts his gaze and leans his forearms on the table, hands loosely clasped. "He's gonna get out."

"Fuck," T-Dog whispers. "God _damn_ it."

"We can't let him get out," Lori says, sitting up straight and leveling the full impact of her gaze at Shane, like she can compel him the same way Alphas can. "You should go back in, tie him up while he's asleep."

Shane doesn't react immediately, his eyes caught on the finger-shaped bruises on Daryl's wrists.

"It wasn't supposed to end like this," he says.

"It's still the second day, right?" Dale asks, looking between T-Dog and Shane. "I mean, technically. We still have time. Daryl can -."

"Christ, man, look at him!" Shane's anger rips out of him, white-hot and sudden like yanking out an arrow from its wound. Daryl fights the urge to flinch, bites the inside of his lower lip and curls his fingers in when Shane gestures towards him. "Look what Rick did to him! He can't go back in there."

_God_ , Daryl hates this. Because he can – he can go back into that barn and let Rick use him until one of them gives out, until Rick's heart stops beating or Daryl gets broken in such a physical way that he can't recover, but that's not a solution. Daryl won't _accept_ that solution.

"Do you think you can cure him?" Lori asks, looking to Daryl again.

Daryl snorts, lifts one hand to his mouth to bite at his thumbnail, and shrugs one shoulder. "I don't know," he replies. "I mean, only reason I thought there _was_ a cure is 'cause Carol said Ed came out of it one time. But she got pregnant. Obviously I can't do that, so."

Lori's eyes are sharp and calculating, her mouth twisting to one side as she thinks.

Daryl's eyes narrow. "No," he says.

"If he needs someone to be pregnant, then -."

"No!" This time Shane and Daryl both say it, Daryl slamming his palm down on the table as loudly as he dares while still trying to make sure he doesn't wake anyone else. Lori sits back, startled at the display of anger. "You think he won't rip you to shreds the _second_ he smells Shane on you?" Daryl bites out, his anger churning in his gut right alongside his fear – God, Rick would _destroy_ her.

"I just thought -."

" _None_ of you could handle this shit," Daryl continues. The anger has grown claws now, fighting its way out of his throat – he says what needs to be said, when it needs to be said, and now is not the time for silence. " _None_ of you can handle Rick like this. Not the way I can. You think I haven't thought about it? Before I even suggested going in at dinner, I thought about it." He sits back, growling when his ass and his spine and his neck _ache_ , and gestures at the doorway, towards the upstairs. "Beth? He'd kill her, get his knot in her and rip out her throat. Carol? Andrea? They'd _break_ under him. _You_? Glenn? Patricia? _Shane_?"

He leans forward again, his words a snarl; "You really think _any_ of you got what it takes? Fuck, Shane can't even say the words; say what we might have to do if he gets out. Glenn's so scared he's white-knucklin' his gun. Seems like I'm the only one here with the balls to try and figure out a _practical_ solution!"

"Daryl -."

"Don't." Daryl glares at Dale and bares his teeth. "Don't talk to me like I'm a fucking _child_ , Dale. I knew what I was gettin' into and if the only solution is to go back out and keep doin' it, then _fine_ , but you all know we're weak without Rick. We _need_ him."

" _You_ need him," Lori says, her voice icy.

Shane sighs and moves his hand to grab hers, soothes a thumb over her white, angry fist. " _We_ need him," he says, repeating Daryl's words quietly but firmly. "He's right. I can't even say it, can't think about puttin' my best friend down. But it's something we gotta consider. If he gets out -."

Daryl's not sure why he feels it first, but he lets out the softest whimper right before the sound of Rick's loud, angry howl shatters the quiet conversation. It's the kind of sound an Alpha would make to a challenger, a lion right before it charges for another male. It's what brought their kind together when the world was new and red and everything had claws and teeth and society had not gentled them.

The tug behind Daryl's heart turns into an all-out _pull_ , a harpoon set right behind his teeth and hauling him onto the deck of a boat to drown. He's on his feet and out the door before anyone can stop him.

"Daryl, wait!"

"Glenn!" Daryl yells, running towards the barn as fast as he can manage. His bare feet protest the use, tender and sore, and his thighs ache and his lungs burn as though he's breathing in smoke, but he sprints for the barn before the sound of a gunshot rings out and makes him freeze in place.

Shane's shadow catches up right him just as Daryl is spurred into action again, but the Alpha's strong arms wrap around him and he screams. "No!" Because that sound – that means…

Oh _God_.

" _Rick!_ " he howls, a wounded mate calling for his Alpha. His head burns, fire in his mouth, his fangs bared and ready to rip and his claws aching for warm flesh, to _kill_ whoever had taken his mate away. "Rick! No! Fuck, Shane, let me go! _Let me go!_ "

Shane's arms tighten and he can hear the Alpha's own ragged breathing. His vision is blurring and his knees buckle, and he falls to them too hard, lets out another loud, mournful sound as the pain blends into the thread wrapping around his heart, his _soul_ , tugging – _tugging_ …

" _Rick!_ "

Rick's loud snarl snaps across the grass, slithers up like a snake and takes Daryl in a chokehold. He lifts his eyes, wide and disbelieving, to the sight of the Alpha stalking around the side of the barn. He's holding Glenn by the scruff of his neck, too tightly – his knuckles are white and Glenn's face is pinched in pain. There's blood on Rick's flank where the bullet grazed, dripping down his side to cover the knot of scar tissue already there, but oh God, _he's alive_.

Shane sees him, too, and Rick's eyes meet Daryl's at the same time he lets Glenn drop. Glenn collapses to the ground like a sack of bricks but Rick doesn't pay him any mind.

He's _wild_. Daryl left his clothes nearby but Rick hasn't bothered to put them back on. He's naked and strong, covered in sweat and blood and _Daryl_ , and he reeks of a young Alpha in Rut and Daryl shudders – a whole-body thing, and feels his body start to heat up. Rick's eyes have caught him, red and wanting, like they're dumb brutes in the height of summer, waiting to breed, to fight and catch a mate, to kill and court and revel in their base instincts.

Alpha and Omega.

Daryl turns his hands to Shane's arms and claws at him until the Alpha lets him go, and shoves himself to his feet. "Rick," he says putting his hands up in a placating gesture. Rick snarls at him and steps forward. "S'just me, Alpha. Easy, now."

He hopes Shane is herding everyone back inside. This is Rick at his most dangerous, wild and feral and without a knotting to calm him down he'll slaughter every last one of them.

The scene reminds him of the first time they met – Daryl crazed with grief and rage and Rick with those calm, summer-sky eyes, that tilt to his head that screamed _'Obey_ ', the raw edge to his tone that had compelled Daryl to his knees. He hopes Rick can _see_ him the way Daryl saw Rick that day.

He licks his lips and takes another step forward, opens his arms so that his Alpha can see he's no threat, and realizes just a little too late that he probably smells more like Shane than anyone else right now. Rick's going to kill him – or, worse, turn against Shane as a rival.

Daryl hears a gun being cocked and looks back to Dale, sees him holding his rifle and aiming it square at Rick. "Don't shoot!" he hisses, and steps sideways to block the shot. Dale's eyes widen on him, disbelieving. "He _sees_ me, you idiot, don't fucking shoot him!"

"Rick!"

Shane's voice snaps Daryl's attention away, and Rick snarls, his red eyes turning to Shane. Shane has himself puffed up, at a ready stance to attack or defend if he needs to, and Rick _growls_ , baring his teeth and taking a step towards the other Alpha.

"That's it," Shane says, backing away. He's moving away from the house and the barn, towards the forest. "Come on, Rick, let’s go this way."

"Shane," Daryl warns.

Rick snarls, his attention drawn by Daryl's voice. His eyes flash red, greedily raking down Daryl's body. His mouth is still a mess – he probably didn't even look at the water and food Daryl left for him – and when he bares his teeth fresh blood pools at the corner of his mouth.

"Rick!" Shane barks again, enough Alpha in his voice that it's a challenge and Rick snaps his eyes back, prowling closer like a tiger gauging its rival. "C'mon, man, fuckin' come get me. I touched your Omega, didn't I? You saw me do it – had him on his knees and everything."

' _What the fuck are you doing_?' Daryl wants to scream it, but it's working – Rick is making the lowest, most obscene, _angry_ noises as he circles towards Shane, and Daryl follows, continuing to block Dale's shot with his body.

"C'mon, Rick." Shane flicks his eyes away as Glenn groans, sidesteps the younger man so that Rick's attention stays on him. Rick lunges, an angry sound rumbling in his chest, and Shane stumbles back but maintains the distance between them to something that's almost safe. Daryl's heart is pounding, his mouth dry as he follows them as quietly as he can. If they can't get Rick back into the barn, the forest is the next best thing. It's far enough away from the pack and the pups that Daryl can keep Rick distracted.

They just need to be wild. That's all. Rick is someone who's been caged by law and justice and strict codes, but codes don't work in this world anymore and he's finally free and he doesn't know what to do with himself. Daryl can teach him, can lead him away from the edge and to the point where he's slowly circling morality and necessity. He can do that. Rick just needs to work through his Rut but then he'll be free and everything will be right again.

He moves to the side, flanking Rick when the ground becomes open. The trees behind Shane's back are closer but if Rick bolts then Daryl will lead him this way, towards the creek and away from the house and the barn.

Daryl watches the Alphas prowl around each other, Rick looking for a weakness in Shane's defense, Shane looking for the right moment or distraction to take Rick down. Shane has his gun but he's not reaching for it, and Daryl realizes with a curse that neither he nor Rick are actually armed. He left his crossbow in the hallway and his knife is in the bathroom with the shredded remains of his clothes – unless Carol took them away. God, he hopes she did. The kids don't need to smell that or see that.

Shane won't kill Rick. He doesn't have it in him – Daryl knows that now. Maybe, before Rick had let Lori go, they would have fought with their teeth at each other's throats until something gave, but now he hasn't had to use his weapon except for Walkers. He's calmer, a lot less wild than Rick, and that's going to get him killed.

Rick isn't armed but his Rutting brain is telling him he's stronger – that's why they attack, to assert their dominance over anything that they think they can beat. It's a power struggle, the king of the castle fighting every heir to survive and carry on the line. Rick has a son but Shane has a pregnant mate and he's a threat.

Rick's red eyes are latched onto Shane's neck, his growl turning into something vicious. He walks along the grass like a proud wildcat, liquid and sleek. He has bruises around his chest and his neck from the ropes, chafing burns and splinters at his mouth. He looks sick and weak like he did in the barn, underfed and dehydrated and shaking from exertion but he will do his _damnedest_ to kill Shane and Daryl cannot let that happen.

Rick lunges again and Shane meets him with a growl but Daryl can't let them get their hands on each other.

"Rick!"

His voice rings out with the sharp clarity of an Alpha command and Rick freezes, his gaze snapping to Daryl. Shane curses, and shakes his head in Daryl's direction.

"Damn it, man, I've _got_ this," he says, and Rick either doesn't hear him or no longer cares, because he's prowling towards Daryl now, as though he's about to give chase. Daryl tenses up and doesn't take his eyes off Rick. The rising sun is just turning the sky blue but there's orange teasing at the horizon and it shines on Rick's skin, covered as it is in sweat and blood.

Rick focuses on him with an intensity that Daryl would kill for and shy away from all at once. He shivers at the naked want in the Alpha's eyes, feeling his body clench as though they're already knotted up.

"I can't let him hurt you," Daryl replies, keeping his eyes on Rick. He takes another step back and Rick snarls at him. "If I fuck him enough he'll get lucid again. It's okay, Shane."

"It sure as fuckin' _Hell_ ain't okay -."

Rick straightens and whirls on Shane with a hiss. " _Mine_ ," he growls, putting himself between Daryl and Shane. He even reaches back as though to block Daryl with his body, and if the situation would let him Daryl would laugh at the hilarious irony of that.

Shane blinks at him, his eyebrows going up. " _Mine_ ," Rick says again, and turns towards Daryl again. The rumble smooths out to a purr and then suddenly Rick is pressed against him, his nose at Daryl's neck and licking over the bite with a low sound of pleasure. "Daryl."

"Shit," Daryl mutters, his cheeks flaring red when he feels Rick start to grind against him, hardening against his thigh. "Fuck, okay Rick, okay Alpha, let's get back to the barn and -."

" _No_." Rick opens his mouth, scrapes his teeth along the angry welt on the side of Daryl's neck hard enough that Daryl whines. "Don't like it there." His hands settle on Daryl's hips, pulling him closer, and he takes in a greedy lungful of Daryl's scent. Daryl shivers, warm affection combining with that now-ever-present need and slowly dripping down his spine, pooling in his stomach. It's almost what he wants – almost Rick, gentle and soothing and speaking his name with something like adoration. He's so _close_. "Come with me, Daryl."

It's a command and Daryl is helpless but to follow it. Rick takes his arm and starts to pull him towards the trees, away from the house. Shane makes to follow.

"Don't," Daryl whispers as loud as he dares. "Get everyone inside. I'll whistle if I need you."

"He's gonna fuckin' kill you," Shane growls back. "He's gonna kill you, and then I'm gonna have to put him down." He scratches his hands through his hair and turns around with an angry curse. "Fuck!"

But he obeys. Daryl gets one more glimpse of his retreating back before he pays more attention to where Rick is taking him. The woods are not forgiving on his tender feet but Rick doesn't even seem to feel it when twigs snap under his soles or he slips and damn near breaks his ankle against rocks. He leads Daryl with a single-minded intent in the vague direction of the sprawling fields on the other side of this copse of trees.

The trees break into a little valley and Daryl waits until they're out of the tree line before he stops. Rick turns to him, his red eyes flashing, and Daryl pulls his arm away and takes a step back. "What?" Rick asks, like he can't ask the full question; ' _What's wrong? What did I do?_ ' Or maybe he already knows. Daryl doesn't know how much Rick is aware of, how much he can remember.

"I'm sorry I left," Daryl says, putting on the sweet Omega act thickly now because he remembers what Rick said. "I had to. You get that, right?"

Rick frowns. "You left," he whispers, as though only just remembering. As though every second he's with Daryl he forgets the moments he wasn't. "But you're here, now." He steps forward and presses their foreheads together, grabs Daryl just a little too hard. "You're here and you're mine."

"Yeah," Daryl replies because he _is_ – body, soul, God he's so fucking lost to this Alpha it's almost pathetic. "And you're mine. Remember that?"

He touches the dark bite mark on Rick's neck. It looks almost black – Daryl wouldn't be surprised if they were both infected and needed a Goddamn penicillin bath after all this shit. Rick presses himself into the touch, the purr growing louder and Daryl can feel it against where his fingers touch Rick's throat.

"Yours," the Alpha says, the word slurred. His eyelids flutter as Daryl's hand shifts around to the back of his head, threading his fingers through Rick's hair and thankful for the thousandth time that there are no ropes to stop him doing it. He'd hated seeing Rick like that, like he's no better than a chained Walker. The anger that had swept through him had been riotous and red.

"Rick," he murmurs, letting Rick pull him close enough that there isn't even room for air between them. He wants to kiss Rick – to this moment it's the one thing they have yet to really do. Rick has smeared their mouths together, sharing blood and the taste of each other, but that's not kissing. Daryl knows enough to know that.

He won't kiss Rick now. Not yet. Not when his eyes are so red like that.

" _Daryl_ ," Rick growls, his body tensing and tripping over that tension like a snapped wire. He pushes Daryl down to the ground in one clumsy movement but Daryl lets him, sighing at the soft grass that feels way more comfortable than the cement floor. He'll get dirty again and wear Rick on his skin like clothes but at least it won't make him bleed.

Rick rubs his cheek against Daryl's, a cat marking its mate, and purrs low in his chest. Daryl can feel Rick, hard against him, rubbing absently at his stomach so he hikes his shirt up and lets Rick thrust against his bare skin, precome smearing over the scars there so that Rick can mark him.

Rick's purr grows louder and he drags his lips along Daryl's forehead. Daryl shivers, a whine stuck in his throat at the intimate, affectionate gesture. God, it's stupid how much Rick affects him like this, how much that one little motion can make Daryl feel as though he's a sapling in a hurricane and can do nothing but hold on tight and bend and bow while the wind whips it to shreds.

"Rick, please," he says, his hands finding Rick's shoulders and holding on as Rick presses their foreheads together again, red meeting blue. Rick's hands catch on the waistline of Daryl's jeans and yank, the clothes worn and loose enough that they slide down easily. Daryl bites his lip – without lube and come to slick the way it's going to hurt, and he and Rick last knotted fairly recently but he's still had time to tighten back up. "Rick -."

Rick makes a low shushing sound. "I won't hurt you," he says, only this time it's not that playful, taunting tone it had been before. Now it sounds sincere, genuine, like Rick is telling himself that _and_ Daryl and he won't accept anything less. "I _won't_ ," he says again, one hand leaving Daryl's jeans and cupping the Omega's cheek. "I _won't_ hurt you. My Daryl."

And Daryl must be the sweet idiot that Merle always said he was, because he believes Rick. "I know," he replies, petting through Rick's hair again. Rick leans up just enough that Daryl can push his jeans all the way down and off before he covers Daryl again.

They're vulnerable, like this. The ground is open and anyone who looked could see them, and neither of them have any weapons, and there are still Walkers and Rutters around. It's like the ancient days, Daryl thinks, when jungle cats and bears and wolves were their biggest threats and they had to watch over each other's shoulders even in sleep to make sure they were kept safe. Daryl's ears are open but his eyes are only for Rick, his mouth and nose are made to breathe Rick in and swallow him down, his hands and his skin are made to only light up for Rick's touches and Rick's heat. Having Shane touch him was like feeling it through glass, but Rick melts into him like liquid lightning and sets Daryl _ablaze_.

"My Daryl," Rick whispers, and turns his head to rub his mouth and cheek against Daryl's neck, the side not bitten, and he licks a hot line over the unmarked skin there. Daryl turns his head with a soft whimper and reaches down, hoping he can at least manage to stretch himself a little before Rick gets it into his mind to fuck him dry.

He freezes when his fingers touch – well, it's not exactly slick, it's not thin and there certainly isn't a lot of it like when Daryl went into Heat, but it's definitely _something_. He slides his fingers through it and shivers, biting his lower lip as he slides a finger inside of himself. It doesn't go in as easy as if he was in Heat or really aroused like an Omega should get, but it definitely doesn't hurt. Hope hits him like a cattle prod and he gasps, arching up into the touch of his finger inside of him.

"Holy shit," he whispers, wondering if his body has been fucked enough to finally get with the program or if there is something magical in Rick, that can heal what has been hurt and kill the undying and part ocean waves like he parts Daryl.

Rick pulls back, his nostrils flaring wide as he inhales. Daryl shivers and pulls his hand back, wide-eyed when he sees the sheen of something that definitely looks like slick on his finger. Rick purrs, his eyes flickering a very dark red, that dead fire waiting to rage again, and Daryl reaches up and smears it across Rick's neck in that way Rick so obviously likes.

"See? Yours," Daryl says, unsure if Rick can hear him. He feels like he can barely speak anyway, his throat is tight and his voice is small. "Only Alpha to make me do this, Rick, promise. Only one that ever will."

At that, Rick blinks, and actually _smiles_.

He leans down so that their noses brush and their breaths mix together in the small space between their mouths, and pushes himself up so that he can rub his cock between Daryl's thighs, eager to sink in. "Only me," he says, his voice low and worshipful like he's about to enter a church. Maybe he is, but if Daryl is the church then Rick is God himself, finally coming home. Daryl swallows hard and arches up until the head of Rick's cock catches on his hole. It's too slick to slide in right away so he reaches down to help Rick inside, and gasps when his sore muscles part and stretch to make room. Even sore and abused as Daryl's ass is it still lets Rick in eagerly, and so much more _easily_ than before. Daryl's throat is so tight he can barely speak and his eyes _burn_.

Rick's eyes widen and he rears back as he sinks inside, blowing out a huge breath, and his hand is shaky when he lifts it to touch just under Daryl's eyes. "Gold," he whispers. His voice cracks and he looks like he's found Paradise after wandering the desert for years. " _Gold_."

Omega gold, to match Alpha red. _God_.

"Fuck me, Rick," Daryl begs, because if he keeps looking into Rick's eyes he's gonna fucking break down and they don't need that right now. He drags his nails down Rick's back and moans when Rick sinks further into him, both of them letting out low growls. It's the first time Daryl thinks he might be able to get away with actually participating, not just lying back and letting Rick have him, or with Rick tied up and Daryl doing all the work. Now they can _move_ together, grunt and rut and grind like they were born to do.

It still aches to have Rick inside of him – Daryl's body is sore and hasn't rested in what feels like years, but he _needs_ Rick to move, to knot him, to _mate_ with him. He needs it with a franticness and fervor he's never felt before about anything. Daryl arches up, moans when Rick starts to thrust like he needs it just as badly, like he's lost himself inside of Daryl and doesn't ever want to see the light of day again. Daryl's whole body burns with every movement and his nails are turning red from Rick's blood and he feels like he's going to lose his damn mind.

It feels _good_. Finally, _finally_ it feels good, and Daryl writhes under Rick like a man possessed, his teeth itching to bury themselves in Rick's throat, his hands slicked with blood and running through Rick's hair. They're _wild_ here, fucked open and raw and Daryl feels _alive_.

He wraps a hand around his cock and strokes quickly, moaning when Rick starts to fuck him in earnest, chasing that itch at the base of his spine telling him to knot the Omega he's caught, stick him and tie him and _bite_ him, and Daryl wants it so badly he feels like he might die. It's the withdrawal and the high all at once, laying with Rick, _being_ with Rick, and Daryl knows he's ruined.

"Bite me," he commands in a world when something as simple as a bite weighs so much more heavily than it did before. Rick rears up like a stallion, his eyes wild. "Mate with me, Rick. Gimme everything."

Rick's eyes close and his face goes lax, his body slowing from that dirty fuck to a slow grind that lights Daryl up from the inside. "I will," he promises with the weight of a thousand years of evolution behind it, and he leans down and licks at Daryl's neck, pushes with the hinge of his jaw so that Daryl turns his head, and bites him.

" _Yes_." It feels nothing like before. This bite floods Daryl like come, sinks into his blood like cigarette smoke. It's the hit he's been ravenous for since refusing Rick's touches in some part of the woods he could probably find with his eyes closed. He fists a hand in Rick's hair and tilts his head further. "Fuck, Rick, _yes_. C'mon."

Rick slams into him one more time, his knot swelling and locking them together and it's too much. Daryl comes with a soft, ragged moan, his hips jerking so that his come smears across Rick's bare skin and into Daryl's shirt. They're going to reek of each other and that's how it _should_ be – a chase and a kill, a conquering Alpha and his worthy Omega.

Rick pulls his teeth back and licks over the bite. It's smaller and neater than the other one and sits just a little shy of the center of Daryl's throat and it doesn't burn. It aches, but in a good way like a hot shower after a long run or the first crack of a spine after sleeping on too-soft couches. Daryl purrs underneath Rick, slicking his hands through his Alpha's hair, and Rick leans their foreheads together again.

His expression twitches with every load he dumps into Daryl's ass, the tension slowly leaving his body once he's sure that Daryl isn't going anywhere. "Pretty eyes," he murmurs roughly, brushing their noses together. "My Daryl."

Daryl hums, closing his eyes when Rick nuzzles him again. He keeps his ears open for sounds of approaching Walkers but he's otherwise relaxed, sure that Rick's more aggressive attitude has been tempered with sex for now. The grass is soft beneath him and the sun has just started to really warm the air and he's comfortable.

Rick shifts after a while with a tired sound, and Daryl opens his eyes to find the Alpha's face lax, his eyes barely open. It's odd that he's already tired after one round, but Daryl can't find it in himself to be too disappointed. He pulls his jeans back on and shrugs off his shirt so that he can lay it over Rick's lap.

Rick grabs his wrist, squeezing gently. "Not gonna leave again, are you?" he asks.

Daryl shakes his head. "Promised I wouldn't," he says, and lies down next to Rick. He's tired and hungry and sore and he just wants to sleep. Rick purrs, tucking Daryl's head against his neck, and slings an arm around Daryl's shoulders. Curled up and looking out for each other's backs, just like old times.

"Sleep, Rick," Daryl murmurs, nuzzling into the stains of come and slick on Rick's neck, and settles a hand just shy of where Glenn's bullet grazed. "I'll be here when you wake up."

 

 

Daryl stirs to the sound of footsteps approaching, and bolts upright to squint in the direction of the sound.

It's not Walkers. It's Shane and Dale and Glenn, Lori and Maggie trailing behind. Daryl glares at them, half embarrassed at being seen so obviously fucked and used, half ready to defend Rick if any of them try to take him away or tie him up again. That shit had obviously not helped and if this morning had been any indication, there was a cure for Rick. He was getting _better_.

All of them are carrying weapons but Dale is the only one actively taking aim and Daryl lifts his upper lip to show his teeth at the man, and shifts so that he's sitting between them and Rick. Rick has rolled onto his back, Daryl's shirt still mercifully preserving _some_ of his modesty. Daryl doesn't like the idea of the rest of the pack seeing Rick like this anymore.

Maggie's eyes widen when she sees Daryl, and even Lori stops and puts a hand to her own neck. They hadn't seen him really fucked up, hadn't seen the full extent of Daryl's injuries like Shane and Glenn had. But it doesn't matter. That last time had been damn near gentle in comparison and Daryl's not going to hold on to old hurts and aches when he doesn't need to.

"The fuck are you doing here?" he bites out, glaring at Shane.

"Didn't hear you whistle," Shane replies, tucking his gun into the back of his jeans. "Wanted to make sure it wasn't 'cause the worst had happened."

"I'm _fine_ ," Daryl replies harshly, and looks over at Glenn, who winces at his tone. "You okay?" he asks, because the last he'd seen Rick had been holding him very tightly and he can see redness on the back of Glenn's neck and Maggie's face is stone-cold when she thinks about what Rick did to her mate. It's not half as bad as the shit he's done to Daryl, though, so Daryl figures she can unclench and let it go.

Glenn nods, his lips pressed tightly together. "Are you?"

Daryl nods sharply. "You guys gotta get outta here before he wakes up," he says, reaching back and smoothing a hand over Rick's chest. The Alpha stirs, frowning as though unsure why he's being touched that way, but doesn't wake. "He's gettin' better though. _Really_."

"Look, man." Shane pauses, shakes his head, rubs a hand over his mouth, and then puts both hands on his hips like he's gearing up for an argument. "I believe that you think that. But we gotta consider the possibility that…that you're not exactly in the right mind to tell."

Daryl's head whips up. "The fuck's that supposed to mean?" he demands.

"I mean – look, I'm just saying I've talked to plenty of Omegas in my time. Omegas with shitty Alphas, getting beaten to an inch of their life and unable to walk away." He sighs, catching his tongue between his teeth. "I know Rick's not like that – but, shit, that ain't exactly Rick right now either."

"Shane," Daryl hisses. "Stop talking."

"I'm just sayin' that it's okay to tap out, Daryl," Shane continues, either ignoring him or not hearing since Daryl spoke so quietly. "You gotta be realistic. You gotta realize that you might not be able to really _see_ what's goin' on with him because you're too close to this, man. Same's on the force – if Rick or I got too invested they'd take us off the case. We have to play this smart."

"I'll _kill_ you if you take him away from me," Daryl says, and he doesn't need to growl the words because they're true. He can say them flatly, without inflection. Shane is an Alpha and he has a gun but Daryl will rip his fucking throat out if he has to. " _Leave_."

"He's gonna get himself killed," Lori states flatly, still rubbing at her throat. She's showered since Daryl last saw her, her hair fluffy from the humidity, and she looks so _clean_ and put together, a perfect match for Shane because even though Shane's dirty and grubby he's nowhere near the level of filth that Rick and Daryl are. Shane and Lori aren't wild, they couldn't possibly understand.

At the sound of her voice, Rick stirs suddenly, and rolls onto his side to groan. Daryl immediately shifts his weight, sitting cross-legged with his side to the group, the hand on Rick's chest sliding to his shoulder and keeping him steady. He glares briefly at Shane and the rest of them and mouths ' _Leave_ ', and although they fall back a little they don't melt into the tree line completely. Daryl figures it's as good as he's gonna get.

"Rick?" he whispers, earning another groan from the man. It's the first sound of genuine pain Rick has made and that's promising – his self-awareness means he's lucid. His hand tightens on Rick's shoulder, runs up into his hair to gently pet it back from his face. "Rick, you with me?"

" _Daryl_." Rick's voice sounds garbled and rough, not clear like it did before. There isn't a thread of Alpha in it at all and Daryl swallows hard. Rick's mouth is totally fucked up and it only occurs to Daryl now that maybe the only reason he could speak at all is because the Rut had ignored the pain, had instead focused on getting Daryl obedient and pliant for him instead of staying silent to heal like he needs.

Slowly, hardly daring to hope, Daryl forces Rick to roll over onto his back. Rick blinks and winces at the sunlight streaming down on his face, whiting out his skin. But when he opens his eyes Daryl lets out a wounded sound and suddenly Rick's focus is entirely on him.

"Daryl," he whispers, with reverence and awe, and reaches up to touch Daryl's face.

Daryl catches his hand and brings it to his mouth. His shoulders are shaking and his lungs feel like they're going to burst and he's never been so fucking _relieved_. Because Rick's eyes are as blue and clear now as a bottomless lake and he's looking at Daryl like he _sees_ him, not straight through him, not hazy and unfocused and red.

"I'm here, Rick," Daryl whispers, and is reminded of when he said that a day ago and at the same time years ago, when they'd first met. "I'm right here."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAND IT'S DONE.
> 
> Thank you all for being patient while I fell into the hopeless trap of story expansion! And thank you to the Rickyl Writers' Group for their shameless encouragement and constant energy! I probably would have never finished this without you guys.
> 
> Enjoy!

Daryl helps Rick to his feet, weak from relief, and catches his shirt before it can fall to the ground. Shane's already stepping forward, shrugging off his own button-down so they can wrap it around Rick's waist. He can see the blue in Rick's eyes now, and knows there's no threat. Rick winces, gingerly shifting his weight and Daryl stays close, supporting the man as best he can.

"You're alright, brother," Shane murmurs, tying the sleeves of his shirt around Rick's waist and Daryl takes over to make it cover most of Rick's front. "How you feelin'?"

Rick winces again, licking at his mouth, and lets out a pained grunt. "Been better," he says.

"Don't talk," Daryl murmurs, keeping his hand against the rope marks on Rick's chest. Rick almost flinches from him, like the sound of his voice wounds Rick, and he looks at Daryl with eyes so wide and lost and _blue_ that Daryl wants to melt everything away, fade like mist, take away Rick's hurts and put them on himself.

"Let's get you back to Herschel's," Shane suggests, stepping away, and Rick nods. It's slow going. Lori, Maggie, Glenn and Dale take point and keep an eye out for stray Walkers while Shane and Daryl hang back, keeping Rick steady and making sure he doesn't hurt himself any further.

Rick looks like shit, to put it plainly, and he limps when he walks and each breath is ragged and slow. Daryl tries to help him as best he can but Rick acts as though his touch burns, shying away from it and leaning more on Shane than him. Daryl tries not to feel the hurt at that but he can't. He _aches_.

What if it had been just the Rut? What if Rick doesn't want him now?

When they break through the trees and see the house it's like Daryl hasn't ever seen it before. Everything has changed, and the new atmosphere hangs over the house like a storm cloud. Shane is giving Rick the same speech he gave Daryl – shower, eat, we'll see what Herschel can do for you – but it's all a buzz because Rick won't even _look_ at him, won't touch him, and Daryl feels for the second time like he's been used up and cast aside.

He walks into the house with them but hangs back as Lori and Maggie go with Glenn to update everyone else and Dale takes his spot back on top of his RV. Shane is still supporting Rick, helping him up the stairs, and when Rick gets to the top he stops with a low sound.

When he looks back his eyes are threaded with red and fixed on Daryl and Daryl hates how he responds, even now when he knows it must just be the Rut – the Alpha in Rick wants its mate, its _bitch_ , but Rick won't ever look at him like that again. Not the real Rick.

"Daryl," he says, his voice clear like he doesn't feel the wounds on his mouth anymore. "Stay close."

And of course he will. Daryl nods, bowing his head and trudging up the stairs to join Rick. Shane leaves them alone as they make their way to the bathroom and Daryl knows he's probably going to do the same thing that he did for Daryl – grab Rick's clothes, alert Herschel and the others as to the new development in Rick's condition, and Daryl will be left alone with Rick to sacrifice his body and open his heart to a man who apparently doesn't want him in the way Daryl so desperately needs.

Rick pulls him close when the bathroom door closes, licks at the new bite on his neck that had felt so good and so much like companionship and ownership and _coming home_ , and Daryl wants to be angry, to push Rick away and demand what the fuck he thinks he's playing at, but he can't because this is his Alpha and this is _Rick_ and Daryl needs him with a passion and intensity that blinds him.

He pulls Shane's shirt off of Rick's body and sheds his jeans and lets them drop with his shirt to a pile on the floor. Rick's eyes flicker, clearing to blue again when Daryl reaches over, not looking at him, and turns the shower back on.

"Daryl," he says, his voice rough again, his eyes blue, and Daryl can't look at him.

"Don't," he replies, holding up a hand. He hates this shaky, unsteady feeling. Rick is alive and he's almost cured and that's more than Daryl could hope for two days ago, but it _hurts_. God, it hurts so badly and Daryl had sworn he'd never fall like this, never become a slave to an Alpha like this, but now it's gone and happened and his soul aches for Rick.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he says roughly, guiding Rick into the shower and stepping in with him. Rick looks at him like he's a brand new species of something and maybe he is – something damned not to carry on its line because he's infertile and weak and he can't handle being with Rick the way he thought he could, the way he so desperately wants to.

"Daryl," Rick says again, his eyes raking over Daryl's body but there's no heat there now. He looks sad, a man about to tell his Omega that he doesn't want him, that they were a mistake. Daryl knows. He just never thought he'd have to hear it.

"Don't talk." Daryl's voice is weak and wrecked and he wants to shoot something, to punch something, to punch _Rick_ , but what happened has happened. He turns Rick so he's under the heaviest of the spray and blinks down at the water as it turns dark and grey with mud and blood.

The pack has bathed together before, when they were on the road and found lakes and pools to wash in, but he's never been this close to Rick and needed to help him like this. His hands shake as he runs a washcloth over Rick's body, mindful of his wounds and aches.

Rick catches one of his wrists, turns it so that he can see the bruises there. "I did this to you," he says, his words slurred and sad. " _I_ did this."

"Wasn't you," Daryl replies with a shake of his head.

"How can you even stand to look at me?"

"Don't talk," Daryl says, but finally lifts his eyes to meet Rick's. They're the prettiest blue Daryl thinks he's ever seen – he could search the whole world and not find a blue that matches Rick's eyes, clear and wide. "Gotta rest your mouth up."

Rick shakes his head, about to protest, so Daryl pours some shampoo into his hand and threads it through Rick's hair, working it up to a lather. It's intimate in a way he isn't expecting, pressed close to Rick and feeling him breathing calmly and slowly, able to look in Rick's eyes and see the Alpha staring right back at him. He feels warm and cold all at once – that damn withdrawal shaking him to his core. He's had his hit of Rick, claimed him in a way that's irrevocable and maybe more damaging than a Rut, Daryl will never know.

He's fucked up. He was selfish and stupid and now he's fucked up the one good thing about this piece of shit world forever.

Rick holds him the way Daryl knows he was craving when he took his own shower just hours before – he's gentle and reverent and touches Daryl the way that must have made Lori fall in love with him before. Like Daryl is precious and sinless. Rick hasn't touched him that way, ever. Looked at him that way, maybe, but never touched him. And Daryl is already so hopelessly lost on him that it hurts the same way a bullet does.

"It wasn't you," Daryl says because he feels like he has to say something, and he pushes at Rick's head until he tilts it back and lets the shampoo wash out. "Ain't holdin' you to nothin' you said before."

"Daryl -."

"Don't talk. Just listen."

Rick presses his lips together, wincing when the motion tugs on the wounded corners of his mouth, but nods. Daryl lets the rest of the shampoo wash out and turns his attention back to Rick's body, rubbing over the dirt and come and blood streaked across his skin until he's clean as the driven snow.

"I don't hold you to anythin' you said," he begins, the words fighting him as though they're trying to crawl back down his throat and hide like a wounded animal somewhere in the cavern of his chest. He flicks his eyes up to meet Rick's before he lowers them again. "I know it was just Rut, but I mean, _fuck_ , Rick, we're mated now. We _are_ , and I can't -." He shakes his head, pushing his wet hair out of his face. "I can't go back to how we were. It's gotta change."

Rick reaches up to touch his face but Daryl turns his head away, staring at the purple-red graze on the side of Rick's chest.

"I thought you were dead," he says, touching just shy of the mark. Rick's shoulder twitches in response to the pain but otherwise he doesn't react. "I was gonna _kill_ Glenn if he'd shot you. _God_ , Rick, you've totally fucked me, you know that?"

"The feeling's mutual," Rick replies with a small, pained smile, and Daryl shakes his head again but doesn't turn away this time when Rick cups his neck, smoothing his thumb across Daryl's jaw. "I mean it. I thought I was – I mean, it's hazy sometimes, but I remember everything you did for me. I thought I was gonna go _insane_ when I saw you…"

He growls, his eyes flickering red for a moment before they clear again. "I saw you go down," he says, and his voice is so rough and low with that Georgia drawl that Daryl can barely hear him. "I saw you go down and I didn't care about anything anymore. I _snapped_ , Daryl, and hard. Well, I guess you know that now."

Daryl grunts, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

"I can't imagine I'd do that for anyone else. I mean, Carl maybe – Shane and Lori though…?" He lifts one shoulder in a shrug and rubs at his neck, wincing when he presses against the bruised rope burns too hard. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, well, shit, you've fucked me, too. And I don't want to take back what I said. I _meant_ it."

"You wouldn't even touch me," Daryl says, the words biting because he won't let himself fall into the fool's trap that hope is again, even when his spine feels like it's melting and his heart is beating wildly. "The whole way to the house, you -."

"Shit, Daryl, the things I did to you, how can you even want me to touch you?" Rick asks, and Daryl turns his face into Rick's palm as though to prove that he _does_ want the touch. The water is getting cold around them but neither of them pays it any attention. "I'm no better than…"

He doesn't say it. Daryl doesn't need him to say it. They both know – they've both seen his scars.

"You ain't anythin' like him, Rick," Daryl says because it needs to be said. Rick shakes his head and lets out a shaky breath and Daryl reaches around them to turn the water off before they drain the well dry and start catching something other than whatever infections they undoubtedly have. "C'mon. Let's go see what Herschel can give us for all this shit."

"Daryl, please," Rick begs, when Daryl steps out of the shower and reaches for the same thin brown towel he'd used before. "Please, just…just wait for a second."

He waits for Daryl's slow, single nod, before Daryl feels Rick's hands on him again. They're not possessive and needy like they were before, but soft and tender. He runs his fingers across the bruises on Daryl's wrists, skates his touch along the marks on his hips. He sees the marks on Daryl's knees, the splinters across his shoulders, and when his eyes land on the first, angry-red bite on Daryl's throat he lets out a soft whine unlike anything Daryl has heard an Alpha do.

Daryl looks at him because how can he not when Rick is making sounds like that, like an animal caught in a trap and waiting for death but still holding out hope that they can be freed? "I wanted you before the Rut," he says, "and I still want you now. Do you still want me?"

' _Ain't got a choice_ ', Daryl wants to say, but instead he lets his shoulders sag and nods. "Wanted you before, too," he admits. "Thought you'd be safer if I didn't let us."

"I know," Rick says, his eyes gentle and forgiving. There's a smile there even if his mouth can't quite make the shape yet. "I got it, then, and I get it now."

There's a knock at the door and Rick suddenly growls, the red threading through his eyes so thickly there might as well not be any blue left. Daryl is quick to step into his line of sight, one hand up to keep Rick back.

"S'probably just leavin' us clothes," he says, keeping his voice high and sweet in a way he knows Rick will respond to, now. Rick rumbles quietly, his eyes still on the door. "C'mon, Alpha, calm down. You got me, remember? Don't need to fight no more."

Rick makes another low sound, his shoulders rolling, but Daryl can see the red melting away. His own eyes burn and he wonders if he showed Rick his gold in response. It'll be something he can think about later – try and figure out how and why after all these years he's suddenly so good at being Omega. He doesn't exactly like it, but he admits it makes some things a Hell of a lot easier.

He opens the door just long enough to grab the clothes. It's the same shirt that Carol washed while Daryl sat with her before all this shit happened, and it smells as clean as this world can manage anymore. He hands it to Rick along with a pair of jeans and pulls his own clothes back on – he's practical enough not to go through three sets of clothes in one day, and he's not exactly clean right now anyway. His shirt stinks of Rick's come but that's probably for the best right now.

Rick's relaxed but he's not stable and but he's not cured. Not yet, anyway.

Rick dresses himself and then frowns at his reflection, at his eyes, as though willing them to change color. "I still feel it," he says, looking at Daryl's reflection instead of turning. "I feel like everything's a threat, like everything's dangerous."

"You're just on edge," Daryl says, shifting his weight awkwardly. "S'understandable."

"It's not _acceptable_ ," Rick growls, running a hand through his hair in a gesture so much like Shane that Daryl finds himself idly wondering which one of them picked up the habit first. "I can't be around the group like this. I can't be around my _kid_ when I feel like I'll rip someone's throat out just for lookin' at you wrong."

"I can handle myself," Daryl replies, a little too harshly.

Rick does turn to look at him, then, and he nods. "I know," he says. "I know. That's the most fucked-up part of this whole thing. You don't _need_ me."

Oh, if only Rick knew. If only Rick knew just how much Daryl _aches_ for him even when they're so close to touching. If only he knew how much Daryl had fought for him to be here because they _all_ need Rick.

He doesn't say any of that. Rick doesn't need to know the pain and anguish he put his family through, or just how often they'd talked about putting him down. Instead he reaches out and brushes his fingers across the bite on Rick's neck and whines.

"You're mine," Daryl says firmly. "And I'm yours. You don't wanna take that back?"

" _Never_."

"Then we'll be okay." Daryl lets his hand drop and doesn't miss how Rick's hand twitches as though to catch it. He's not sure he'll ever be comfortable with holding Rick's fucking _hand_ , God, but the absence of his Alpha's touch does make him burn and feels like it turns his bones to liquid, malleable and soft in Rick's hands. He thinks he could get used to sitting next to Rick at the fire, putting his nose to Rick's neck, wrapping an arm around Rick's shoulders and letting Rick do the same to him. He could let their knees brush together under the table or around a campsite and run his hands across his Alpha's throat or down his arms.

He clears his throat and steps away, knowing his eyes are glowing and golden.

"Let's go meet the others."

 

 

The smell of roast chicken has started to fill the house and Rick makes a soft, hungry sound at the same time Daryl's stomach kicks him heartily to remind him how little they both have eaten and slept since this whole mess started. He follows Rick down the stairs, watching closely to make sure nothing triggers Rick while he's down here.

Herschel is in the dining room and looks up as they come to the bottom of the steps. "Rick," he greets cheerily, as though nothing has happened. "Come sit down. Let me have a look at you."

"We're kinda hungry," Daryl protests, but weakly, because really food will just be wasted if they die of sepsis or some stupid shit like that.

Rick seems to agree with his mental assessment because he comes forward and takes a seat next to Herschel. Daryl immediately takes Rick's other side, caging him in and making sure Rick can feel his warmth and use him as a grounding anchor if he needs it.

Herschel makes a small, disappointed tutting sound. "You look like you've had a messy few days," he says, his high voice still so light. He gestures to his little red first aid kit and pulls it over. "I guess unless anything else pops up we'll just start with the basics and hope for the best. Do you have anything more than superficial wounds?"

Rick frowns, and then shakes his head.

"He got shot," Daryl says, his voice hard. He catches Rick's glare out of the corner of his eye. "Bullet grazed but it's still worth lookin' at. And his mouth is all fucked up, and his neck is -."

"Daryl needs it more than me," Rick interrupts, protesting, his voice slightly raised. "And he needs antibiotics for his bite, and…" Rick stops, then, his eyes widening, and he turns to look at Daryl. "You need to talk to Lori."

Daryl frowns. "About what?"

"I don't…" Rick growls, his fist clenching, his eyes flashing red for the briefest moment. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay, okay." Daryl's voice goes soft and sweet and he reaches down to rest his palm against Rick's thigh. "Whatever you say."

But Rick doesn't seem to relax after that. He's agitated, hungry and angry as Herschel looks at his mouth and painstakingly removes all the splinters from his lips and gums. He gives Rick something foul-smelling and clear like moonshine to swirl around and spit out and Daryl winces when the wad of saliva is thick with blood. He says that since the ropes don't look like they broke skin he should be fine, but to keep an eye on them to make sure they don't get chafed or split open. Rick's feet and hands are merely sore, superficial cuts and bruises that Herschel gives him antiseptic wipes to clean with and gives strict orders to keep an eye on and keep cleaning periodically throughout the day.

"That bite looks a little raw, son," Herschel finally says with a nod to Rick's neck.

Rick tilts his chin up, almost proudly, his expression turning into something challenging. "It's fine," he says firmly, his thigh tensing up under Daryl's hand. His eyes aren't turning red but he's clearly gearing up for a fight.

"Rick," Daryl murmurs. "Let him have a look at it."

" _No_ ," Rick hisses in response, turning to face Daryl. "It's _yours_ , so no one's messing with it."

Warmth floods Daryl's veins like nicotine and he can't help but smile at how sweet and idiotic Rick is being. "Ain't gonna be worth much if it gets infected and kills you," he says gently, encouraging Rick with a nod of his head. "Let Herschel look at it."

Rick grunts, but seems to relent and tilts his head to allow Herschel room to move closer and look at the bite. The marks of Daryl's teeth look almost black and Daryl isn't sure if that's because of blood or mud or some other contaminant. It doesn't smell like an infection but it's definitely not normal – both of the bites on Daryl's neck look nothing like that.

"This is…strange," Herschel says softly, before he steps away. Rick rolls his shoulders and lets out a hard breath. "But from what I can tell the skin looks healthy. Just -."

"Keep an eye on it, got it," Daryl says, squeezing Rick's thigh again when the Alpha huffs a laugh. "We will. Anything else you wanna check out?"

Herschel eyes him. "How are you, son?" he asks, raising an eyebrow and gazing at Daryl.

Daryl lifts a cuticle to his mouth and bites down. Hard. "M'fine," he replies. Which he is – mostly. The physical hurts are negligible if what Rick says is true – if Rick truly wants to belong to Daryl then Daryl will own him the same way he owns his crossbow and his knife. He will love Rick with the same care he gives his weapons and adore Rick as he adores the Georgia wild. Things like bruises and cuts and bites scarcely matter when compared to something as grand as that.

Rick, apparently, disagrees. "No," he says with a shake of his head. "No. I hurt him." He turns to look at Herschel with an almost pleading expression but it doesn't stick, like his eyes can't move from Daryl for more than a few seconds at a time. Just as he seemed to forget the moments when Daryl wasn't there when in his presence, it's like he forgets that Daryl is next to him unless he can see the Omega and confirm with his own eyes that Daryl is safe. "I _hurt_ you."

"Rick -."

Daryl doesn't get to finish his sentence. At the same time, the scent of roast chicken grows to an unignorable height, and the crisp scent of Carl fills the room as well. " _Dad_ ," he whispers, almost dropping the plate he'd been carrying in, and runs to Rick's side.

He flings himself into Rick's arms and Lori is hot on his heels, her eyes wide and terrified but Daryl holds up a hand to stop her. Rick wraps his arms around Carl's skinny body and squeezes him so tightly, like he's never gonna let go, and buries his nose in Carl's hair to take a deep breath.

"Hey, buddy," he whispers, his voice cracking. Lori takes a step back, her lips pursed, and her hands smoothing down her shirt like she's not sure what to do with them otherwise. "You been good for your mom while I was gone?"

Carl nods, his hat tilting dangerously off his head as he clings to his father, before he lets go and wipes at his eyes. "Missed you," he admits, and Daryl has to smile at the young Alpha as he looks at the floor and scuffs his feet.

"Missed you too, son," Rick says gently, tapping Carl lightly under the chin. "Thought maybe we could all have breakfast together, though. How's that sound?"

Carl's eyes light up and he turns to sprint into the kitchen to grab more plates. Rick and Lori's eyes meet from across the room. The silence is crushing. Rick has such powerful silences – Daryl feels like he could have an entire conversation with Rick without saying a word. At the same time, he knows Lori and Rick have never had that power. They don't communicate on the same frequency, not like Lori does with Shane, or Daryl does with Rick. It's not a negative, it's just a fact. Rick and Daryl work on something much less complicated and wilder.

"I'm glad you're okay," she finally says solemnly, nodding her head, her hands cupping the rounded swell of her stomach.

Rick manages a small, pained-looking smile, but then Carl comes back into the room and the expression turns a lot more genuine. Carl has more plates and extra chicken and a large plate devoted entirely to scrambled eggs and he starts dividing them out between the three men and Lori. Herschel must have already eaten.

Daryl will admit that he and Rick don't exactly eat cleanly. They're starving and weak, but Daryl makes sure everyone gets a fairly even share. He eats the least – Lori is pregnant and Carl is growing and Rick hasn't eaten for God knows how long – he's used to going light anyway. He can hunt later for more food if he gets hungry.

There's grease on his fingers and around his mouth by the time he's done and he doesn't think anything of wiping his mouth with the edge of his hand and licking off the grease from his fingers. He feels more than he hears Rick's low purr, and looks over to find the Alpha gazing at his mouth with red-threaded eyes.

His own eyes itch and he ducks his head, nudging his knee against Rick's and grinning when Rick presses right back. They keep eating, the silence between them charged and throbbing like electricity caught between glass. Eventually one of them will shatter and bow to the lightning strike and Daryl is positive it's going to be him. He's not built to resist an Alpha like Rick and the full force of his desire, even if he wanted to.

"Both of you take these when you're done," Herschel says, breaking the tension between them with a flat tone even though Daryl's sure that he and Rick are pumping enough pheromones out into the room that the older Alpha can smell them plainly. He's glad Lori is female and Carl hasn't reached maturity yet – he's not sure he's comfortable with Rick's ex-wife and son being able to smell just how much he wants to jump Rick at any given moment.

Herschel hands Rick a bottle of Advil and then pushes himself to his feet with a light groan just as Shane walks through the front door and into the dining room.

"Brother," he greets Rick warmly, coming around and clapping a hand into Rick's open palm. Rick smiles, the expression much less strained now that there aren't still splinters tugging at his mouth, and he shakes Shane's hand once before letting him go. "Hey, Carl, Beth was talking about going with Carol down to the creek and figured you might wanna come, maybe try and catch some fish or somethin'."

There are no fish in the creek, but Carl isn't old enough to care about something as simple as wasting time. He nods eagerly, Rick's hat waving around loosely on his head, and pushes himself to his feet.

"See ya, Dad. Bye, Daryl!" he says with a wave as he all but sprints out of the room, Herschel walking along behind.

Shane takes Carl's seat next to Lori, one arm slung heavily over the back of her chair. His entire position is lax as though the past few days haven't happened. Rick has his attention turned back to his food and Lori is picking at some strands of chicken breast with such laser focus that Daryl isn't certain she's not trying to see the lines of DNA written into the meat.

Daryl coughs. "This is awkward," he says.

Shane grunts, rubbing a hand over his mouth as Rick looks up. The Alpha's leg presses against Daryl's with more force as though trying to reassure him.

"How ya feelin', Rick?" Shane asks.

Rick blinks, licking his lips, and wipes his fingers on his thighs. "I feel…kinda like I'm hungover," he says with a wince, one hand coming up to idly play with the bottle of painkillers. "And kinda like I did when I woke up from my coma all over again. Weak. Disoriented. Kinda waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"There ain't no other shoe," Daryl says, a little too harshly. "Ain't nothin' wrong with you anymore."

Rick shakes his head. "You know that's not true, Daryl."

Shane's eyes sharpen and he sits up a little straighter. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means I can still feel it," Rick says, ignoring Daryl's low, warning growl of his name. "I mean – you guys know, I never went red for anythin' before. And now it's like I can constantly feel it, like anything is gonna make me snap all over again." And it looks like he collapses in on himself, like his chest is a paper bag that's been punched, his shoulders hunching in and his head bowed. "I'm not stable, not by a long shot."

"This true?" Shane demands, his tone almost accusatory when he looks at Daryl.

Daryl bites in the inside of his lower lip, then nods, once. "We can handle it," he says, looking at Shane when the other Alpha gives a soft curse and sits back. " _I_ can handle it."

Rick nods slowly. "Daryl makes me feel like I can be sane," he murmurs, his voice so weak and young-sounding when he looks at Lori, then Shane, and then back to Daryl. And it's like he gets stuck there, trapped like a fly in a web because they're eyes lock and Rick doesn't look away, almost as though he can't. "I know it's not healthy and it's not practical but you make it better. At least a little."

Daryl bites his lip again. "You think it'll be enough?" he asks, matching Rick's pitch and volume. Like they'll both shatter if they speak too loudly.

Rick smiles again and nods, and Daryl feels a tightness in his throat that has nothing to do with pain or sorrow. He clears his throat and looks away before he can start crying like a little bitch, but curls his ankle around the front of Rick's and squeezes.

Rick lets out a low purr, apparently much more cavalier about his own emotions, because he doesn't hesitate to lean over and rub his forehead against Daryl's bare shoulder. Daryl doesn't shy away but he doesn't lean into it either – he can feel Shane and Lori watching them, calculating and wary.

Awkward as Hell, is what it is.

"Alright, lover boy," he finally says, voice overly-gruff as he raises his arm to nudge Rick away and Rick goes but he's smiling, his warmth pressing in on Daryl from all sides. Desperate to change the subject, Daryl adds; "Well, since she's here, why did you want me to talk to Lori?"

At that, Rick blinks, and a dark look comes over his face. It's almost like anger but it has nothing to focus on – blind, random aggression that passes over his face like a raincloud before he turns and looks back at his plate.

Lori is frowning between them. "You needed to talk to me?" she repeats, just as incredulous-sounding as Daryl feels.

"You still have those pills, right?" Rick asks, all at once like the words burn as he holds them in his mouth. "Just sayin', Daryl might need them now."

Lori blinks at Rick once, before her eyes widen so suddenly that Daryl has a momentary brief, irrational flash of fear that they're going to fall out of her head. Shane seems just as confused as he is and is looking between Rick and Lori with a kind of familiar frustration – the look of a man lusting over what he can't have, angry over a connection he's not a part of. But Rick and Lori are running on different frequencies and Daryl isn't convinced that she can feel the tension in Rick's voice or see the tremble of his hands.

"Rick -."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Rick bites out. "Just give them to him, Lor."

"Rick, sweetie…" Lori's eyes flash to Daryl, wide and helpless, before she shakes her head and fixes her gaze back on Rick. "He doesn't need those."

"Doesn't need _what_?" Daryl demands, his heart stuttering in his chest at Rick's low growl.

Lori's mouth twists unhappily and she says, very quietly; "The morning after pill."

…Oh.

 _Oh_.

Because Rick doesn't know. Rick doesn't know what Daryl did to himself when he was eighteen. He doesn't know that Daryl is ultimately a failure at being a mate because he can't carry on Rick's line. He doesn't know that those scars on his stomach are from his own knife – God, how many times did Rick rub his come into those scars, purring and proud, not realizing he was highlighting just how fruitless the point of Rutting with Daryl was?

"…You have morning after pills?" Shane asks quietly, markedly soft, and it occurs to Daryl that Shane doesn't know some things either. Not like Daryl did.

Daryl shoves himself to his feet and all but flees the house. He can't face Rick right now, because he'd forgotten Rick didn't know or maybe he just forgot that he's barren – maybe he'd let himself think with the gold in his eyes and the slick that he could be cured like Rick could be cured.

But he can't. He's fucked up and useless to Rick as a mate and he _can't_ deal with that right now.

So he runs. His feet are still bare and ache with every step and his shoulders protest as he sprints across the grass and towards the forest. He hears Rick yelling for him and tunes him out because if Rick orders him back he'll have to obey. But Rick doesn't – maybe he's too weak to fight, maybe he realizes what Daryl has known all along and refuses to chase an infertile Omega, but it doesn't matter. Daryl flees because he has to, and even if he ends up limping home with his tail tucked and his ears flat, he'll have had hours to himself to prepare for being shunned by his Alpha.

He runs until his lungs are about to burst and his heart is hammering and his head hurts from the blood rushing through it. He runs until his feet can't take the pressure of each pounding step and his knees are more likely to buckle than lock and hold his weight.

He runs and runs until the air is swelteringly hot and until he collapses in a small clearing. There's enough sightlines on all sides to warn for Walkers but not so much that he feels exposed.

And then he laughs. Because it's the same Goddamn fucking clearing where all this started. Where Rick pushed him against a tree – that tree, with the char marks on its trunk and a bit of bark broken off from where Daryl punched it after Rick had left – and promised him the sky and the Earth and everything in between if Daryl would just be his. Maybe not in those words, but eyes like that don't lie. _Touches_ like that don't lie.

But Rick can't possibly want him now. No Dixon is that lucky.

" _Fuck_!" he yells, turning and punching the tree again and hissing when pain ricochets up his arm and through his already-abused shoulder and knuckles. He pulls away, growling low to himself, and stops when he hears a twig snap.

It could be a Walker, in which case Daryl is pretty much screwed except to run back home. Or it could be another person, in which case Daryl is definitely not in the position to fight or to make his way back to the camp.

The wind changes and brings with it the undeniable scent of his Alpha and Daryl's soul _aches_.

"…Rick?" he whispers, like his eyes are lying to him, as the Alpha melts out of the shadows of the trees and into the clearing.

Rick's eyes are threaded with red but not nearly as much as Daryl has come to recognize. He steps towards Daryl slowly as though expecting Daryl to bolt again. He wants to. He _might_.

But he doesn't, and then Rick has him backed into the tree again just like that first time, only now he _knows_ how it feels to have Rick against him. Knows the ache in his ass and the heat in his spine when Rick fucks into him hard and fast and merciless. He doesn't have to imagine how Rick's hands feel in his hair or how his skin tastes or what he sounds like when he comes. He _knows_ , and it makes his heavy breaths shaky and his head feels too light.

"You really need to stop runnin' away from me," Ricks says without inflection, pushing his forehead against Daryl's head until the Omega relents and shows his throat. "Unless you want me to chase you. I'll hunt you all damn winter if that's what you need."

And fuck, maybe it is what he needs. Maybe he needs the wild, feral part of Rick since he knows he can't have the sane part.

"I can't be what you want," he says instead of all the other things; ' _Take me_ ', ' _Fuck me_ ', ' _Please, God, don't leave me_ '. He braces his palms against the front of Rick's shoulders and pushes him back. His eyes are burning and it might be gold and it might be tears but he doesn't know because he can barely see. "I can't…can't give you kids, Rick. Not even sure I'd want to if I could. We're mated but I can't be your _mate_ , not in the way you need."

"Daryl -." Daryl shakes his head but Rick catches his chin and forces their gazes to hold. His eyes are bluer now, almost grey like gunmetal and icebergs. "Don't talk," he says, voice gentle but full of command. "Just listen. You think you can do that?"

Daryl presses his lips together and nods.

Rick smiles. "Good," he praises gently, letting his thumb rub along Daryl's bottom lip. "'Cause I want you to listen real well for me. I _want_ you." He leans in, presses his lips against Daryl's jaw, just below his ear, and Daryl shivers and clutches tighter at Rick's shoulders. "I want you in every possible way. I want you in ways that scare me, sometimes." He drags his tender mouth down Daryl's neck, licks gently at the angry-red bite covering the side, and Daryl whines. "I _need_ you even more, and whatever lies you tell yourself isn't going to change that."

"I can't -."

"Don't talk," Rick says. He pulls back so they can meet each other's eyes. "I will do whatever it takes to convince you, Daryl. _Christ_ , the things I would do for you."

"Feelin's mutual," Daryl whispers, his eyes flicking up just briefly before he lowers them again. "Ain't like we got a choice about it, though."

"I chose you before." Rick's eyes are wide and such a pretty blue. Daryl wants to fly into them and never come out. "And I'm choosing you now."

His hands are warm on Daryl's arms, the heat heavy and hot between them but Rick's touch always a welcome addition to that. Daryl can't find it in himself to complain even though he knows they're both sweaty and gross and will need _another_ shower after all of this.

"You still mine?" he asks, running his hands up Rick's shoulders to cup his neck, smoothing over the dark bite mark there.

Rick's eyes close and he lets out a slow, heavy breath. "Yes. Yours. I'm yours."

 

 

By the time they get back to the Greene farm the sun has set and the pack has lit up a campfire near the barn. They carefully step through the mess of sound traps to alert the pack to approaching Walkers, lifting their hands when Andrea and Glenn jump up at the ready.

"S'just us," Rick says, his voice hoarse. After Daryl had calmed down they'd just talked, for hours, and Daryl feels a little guilty straining Rick's voice like that, but it had gone a long way to settling his frame of mind.

Rick loves him. Rick _belongs_ to him, in a way so much more permanent than blood and dust. They're bonded, mated like wildlings in the first wave of humanity and Daryl's mind burns for his Alpha, his chest aches when Rick isn't close to him. The thought of never hearing Rick, or smelling him, or tasting him on his tongue strikes Daryl with such a pointed _sadness_ and fevered rage that he doesn't know if he'd survive Rick's death. In a world like this tomorrow is never certain but Daryl knows there isn't anything he wouldn't do if it meant saving Rick's life.

There's a spot large enough for two of them by the fire and Daryl sits first. Rick sits just slightly behind him, one leg folded so his shin rests against Daryl's back, his other stretched out to frame the Omega's leg. He doesn't go as far as to hold Daryl with his arms around Daryl's chest but the closeness and the intimacy feels nice. It feels _good_ to have an Alpha's warmth and strength at his back.

Shane is to Rick's right and the two Alphas exchange weak, tired smiles. It's been a long-ass weekend for all of them and Daryl looks forward to starting the next day fresh and free with his pack.

Rick meets Glenn's eyes over the fire, Maggie to Glenn's left silently staring him down. "You alright?" Rick asks.

Glenn nods, smiling at his pack Alpha. "I got you back," he replies cheerfully, wrapping his arms around his knees as Maggie smacks his shoulder.

Rick's low chuckle warms Daryl up from the inside and his hands shake with just how _relieved_ and happy he is. "That you did," Rick concedes with a nod.

They fall into silence after that, all of them simply enjoying the unseasonable humidity that almost feels like warmth. "We're thinking of tearing down the barn," Maggie says after a moment, picking at a hole in her jeans. "Too many bad memories in that place."

Rick nods, like the decision is actually his to make. He rubs at the side of his nose and then pushes his hand back through his hair. "Fresh start seems like the perfect idea to me," he says, his other hand landing on Daryl's spine and slowly running up and down. Daryl hadn't even realized how tense he was until Rick started petting him, and he feels the tightness melt away from his muscles.

 _You keep me sane_. Must be a two-way street.

Daryl leans into the touch with a low purr, looking over his shoulder to smile at Rick before his attention is drawn by Lori, shifting her weight awkwardly and wincing as she cradles her stomach.

"Lemme grab you a pillow or something," he says, making to get to his feet, but Rick's hand curls around his shoulder and forces him to stay down, using him as something to push against as he stands instead.

"I'll go," he says firmly, squeezing Daryl's shoulder before letting go. Shane nods, his arms wrapped around Lori as she uses his chest to support herself. Even still she looks uncomfortable and Daryl watches with his heart in his throat as Rick's silhouette disappears from the firelight and blends in with the darkness of the house.

"You'll get used to it," Carol says after a long, quiet moment. She's sitting to Daryl's left, and reaches out to squeeze his hand with a small smile.

Daryl clears his throat, frowning at her. "Used to what?" he demands.

"Feelin' like you'll die if you can't see them."

It's Shane who speaks, surprisingly, and Daryl blinks over at him. Shane looks thoughtful, his mouth pressed to Lori's hair, his thumb absently stroking across the bare skin of her arm. "Feelin' like you'll go insane because you're not with them, or because they're in danger, or because you know they're hurtin'." He shrugs one shoulder and Daryl looks to Carol as she nods. "You'll get used to it."

Daryl bites at his cuticles, curling up on himself. It feels like an hour before Rick returns with three pillows and carefully arranges Lori so that she's sitting on one, a second between her shoulders and a third under her knees as she leans against Shane.

The two of them share a smile when Rick settles back down, pressed closer to Daryl than before. "I remember when she was having Carl," he says quietly. "Never could be comfortable without a mountain of pillows around her."

"You pay attention," Lori says, slapping Shane's arm lightly. "This is going to be your job from now on."

Shane's eyes widen in fake horror, earning a scattered round of laughter from the group. Daryl even manages a weak chuckle, feeling another pang of something like loss and failure, knowing Rick will never have that kind of experience again. Daryl can't give him fatherhood and in this world Carl's growing up so fast he's almost a man.

He's distracted from his thoughts by Rick nuzzling behind his ear.

"In every way, Daryl," Rick says, his hand smoothing up to cup Daryl's nape, and Daryl has always hated that he's biologically programmed to melt into the touch but it feels so soothing and blissful that he immediately loves it. He loves the calluses on Rick's fingers against his smooth skin, loves the tickle of hair as it's twisted and brushed the wrong way by Rick's touch. "I want you in every way, and you are mine for as long as you'll let me have you."

The possessiveness is gentle and full of respect – a wild animal acknowledging the strength of its mate and the worthiness of its own breed even when it presses its mate to the ground and drags out howls that will shake the Earth. Daryl's body floods with heat and he knows his eyes are gleaming gold in the firelight.

"I think it's a good time to call it a night," Carol says primly, and either it's because she notices Daryl's state or she just has the best timing in the world but Daryl has never loved her more. "I'll take first watch with Andrea. The rest of you get some much-needed shut-eye."

Daryl scrambles to his feet along with Rick and starts towards his tent immediately. Before Rick snapped he'd taken to sleeping near or outside Daryl's little removed part of camp anyway, and Daryl knows Rick's rucksack is here along with some of this clothes and his sleeping bag. Daryl has never liked the idea of sharing his own space – he gets too claustrophobic even for his tent sometimes – but now he wants nothing more than to carve out a space for himself in Rick's chest and live there forever.

"Come here," he commands, pulling Rick to him as they crouch and crawl into his tent, and Rick covers him like water until Daryl rolls Rick onto his back and pushes him down into the ground. There's a thin mat there to protect them from the cold but not much else and Rick shivers when his back hits the unforgiving surface.

Daryl leans over him, feeling powerful and lethal as Rick gazes up at him with dazed, lust-black eyes. "Still own you, Rick?" he asks, breathless when Rick nods and grabs at his thighs and encourages Daryl to sit in his lap, comfortably braced in the way Rick had so ruthlessly begged for before but they'd never gotten around to doing. "Want me to ride you?"

" _Please_ ," Rick replies, flashes of red around the edges of his large pupils, and Daryl's mouth quirks up in a smirk.

"Like it when you beg me for things, Rick," he says, pushing some of Rick's wild hair from his face. "Makes me wanna do anything for you. But you know that."

" _Daryl,_ fuck." Rick tilts his head back, his throat and chest heaving as he breathes. "I can _smell_ you."

Daryl raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening even as his body gives an excited shiver. He realizes what Carol must have been talking about – Alphas in Rut _are_ sexy, driven out of their mind with lust, and with all that focus like you're the only thing that matters in the world. Well, Daryl would be lying if he said he didn't like it.

"I smell good, Alpha?" he asks, using his Omega lilt to taunt Rick as he starts to undo the buttons on his shirt, then Rick's, baring them both in the darkness. "Covered in your come and all slick for ya? You like that?"

"Oh God, _Daryl_ ," Rick growls, so desperately it wraps around Daryl's spine like barbed wire and _pulls_. "You're gonna fuckin' _break_ me."

Daryl moans, his eyes closing as he arches his back up and grinds down against Rick, able to feel his Alpha's cock through their jeans. It feels _good_ , Rick's hands huge and warm on his thighs, not pressing or controlling but just holding on for the ride. Daryl pushes up onto his knees and hums when his joints ache in readiness, his hands moving to his jeans to unfasten them and push them down his hips.

"Gonna have to let go of me sometime, Rick," he says with a pointed look to Rick's hands. The Alpha groans, his hands releasing Daryl's thighs like it physically pains him to do so, and instead they both scramble at their clothes in an effort to get naked and raw and rubbing against each other like rutting beasts.

Rick lets out a sound almost like he's been wounded and Daryl's eyelids flutter closed again when he feels his slick wetting Rick's cock, the Alpha grinding up slow and dirty between his thighs with a low groan. "You feel so fucking _good_ ," Rick whines like it _hurts_ , and he's not even inside Daryl yet.

This is the most lucid he's ever been with Daryl. How much more intense will that make it? _God_ , what will Rick's knot in him feel like?

"You make me feel good, too," Daryl murmurs because he feels like Rick needs to hear it. The Alpha's eyes fly open and Daryl meets his gaze, slides a hand through the sweat on Rick's chest to cup his neck loosely. "Love feelin' you in me, Rick. No one ever made me slick before. Remember me tellin' you that?"

"Yes," Rick gasps, tilting his head back to bare more of his throat to Daryl's hand. "Yes, I remember."

He looks enraptured, like he's seen the face of God, and Daryl feels the power and the devotion right down to his core and he wants to wrap his hands tight around it and never let go. Rick is _his_ , his Alpha, his mate; just as much a part of Daryl as Daryl needs to be a part of Rick. Daryl wonders where Rick feels the tug, if it's a fishing hook in his mouth or a clawed hand around his throat or a pull behind his heart like Daryl's is.

Rick's hands slide up Daryl's thighs and he spreads his thumbs across Daryl's hips, his fingers grabbing the bone. "Please, Daryl, don't tease me," he begs again, and God how can anyone resist an Alpha like that? It's almost a command but weak, needy, and Daryl _thirsts_ for it. "Let me make you feel good."

Daryl reaches back, sliding his fingers inside himself to make sure he's stretched enough and it won't hurt too badly. It stings in the best way and Daryl remembers how just days ago he'd thought he'd never enjoy doing this to himself. But with Rick looking at him like that, his eyes wide and his mouth parted and gasping, Daryl thinks he could happily do this all night if it didn't mean he'd deny himself the feeling of having Rick inside of him.

He pulls his fingers out. It's too dark to see the slick but he can certainly smell it. It doesn't smell like anything spectacular, just musky and heavy like old perfume, but he can feel Rick tensing up, wild and rearing up for it, his throat pressed harshly against Daryl's palm.

Daryl smiles. "Wanna taste me, Rick?" he asks, his voice little more than a purr as he ruts his hips against Rick's. He can feel Rick's cock sliding behind his balls, through his slick and catching on his hole if Daryl moves just right, but he won't let the Alpha sink in. Not yet. Daryl's in control for the first time since this started and he's going to make the most of it.

Rick whines, one of his hands sliding up Daryl's flank and squeezing gently. "Please," he whispers, voice hoarse, and bucks up underneath Daryl.

But Daryl feels wicked. He smears his slick across his neck and jaw and grins when Rick whines as though he can see what Daryl is doing. At the same time Daryl finally lifts up enough that Rick's cock pushes against his ass, and when his slick is thoroughly coating his neck he reaches back and helps to guide Rick's cock inside, sinking down onto him in one fluid motion.

"Mm, _fuck_ ," he gasps, somehow so much more wrecked in this position than he was in any other. He can feel Rick's trembling strength beneath him, keeping him steady on shaking ground. He rolls his hips and his breath stutters as Rick's cock fills him, brushes against that point inside of him that sets his blood on fire. Rick's hands tighten and help him move, grinding them together like they're meteors, colliding and breaking apart. "Fuck, yeah, Rick, just like that."

Rick moans for him, dragging his heels against the ground and bracing himself up so that Daryl can ride him better and he can put his own thrusts behind it. It's harmony and gravity, driving them together as fast and rough as a tornado rolling through and as devastating as a hurricane. Daryl's hand is tight on Rick's throat when he yanks the Alpha upright, curls his other hand around Rick's nape and bites his shoulder _hard_.

Rick groans, trembling finely in Daryl's arms, his nose at Daryl's neck keeping him wild and sane all at once. Daryl knows Rick's feeling his own withdrawal, his high, and it's shaking them both, wrapping around them like cellophane and salt in their raw wounds.

"Knot me, Rick," he demands, amazed at how steady his voice is. Rick shudders and claws at his back, as lost to the rhythm and the heat as Daryl is. Rick's shoulders tense and roll and Daryl feels him tonguing weakly at his neck, eager for the taste of slick smeared across Daryl's throat. "Come for me, Alpha."

Rick pushes Daryl's hips down and curls himself around his mate, growling loud and long as he forces his knot inside. Daryl grinds down, moaning softly as he feels his body opening to accept the stretch, and reaches down to wrap his fingers around his leaking cock. It doesn't take long, high as he is on the feeling of Rick, for him to come, streaking their bellies and chests with his seed.

Rick is making the sweetest sounds; overwhelmed as he smooths his hands down Daryl's back and twitches with every clench of Daryl's body around his knot. "Fuck, _fuck_ ," he whispers, wrecked, his forehead pushed against Daryl's jaw.

Daryl brushes his fingers through Rick's hair and lets the Alpha settle under him. He can't lie down comfortably but that's alright. Rick is purring underneath him, his rumble soothing against Daryl's skin as the Omega settles with a sigh, letting his eyes close as he prepares to wait out Rick's knot so that they can lie down next to each other.

When it finally does, both of them are barely awake. Daryl slithers up Rick's side, pushes his face against Rick's chest and lets the Alpha wrap around him, and smiles at the gentle kiss that gets placed to his forehead.

"'Night, Rick."

"'Night, Daryl."

And he falls asleep with Rick's hand on his nape and his arm slung around Rick's waist.

 

 

They sleep through the whole night and most of the next day. Daryl wakes up heavy and warm with Rick plastered against his back, the Alpha's soft snores keeping him content, that feeling of safety and happiness settled in his chest like a lily pad on a calm pond.

He hums, shifting his weight until he feels more of Rick pressed against his back, and sighs when the Alpha's breathing hitches in something familiar – Rick stirring and waking up, becoming aware even if his eyes aren't quite open yet.

"Mm," he hums, nuzzling at Daryl's nape. "Mornin'."

Daryl grunts but otherwise makes no acknowledgement.

Rick chuckles, nuzzling him again, until his arms tighten and Daryl feels him start to pull away. He can't help the whine he lets out, turning his face towards his arm to hide it once he realizes just how pathetic that sounded.

"Hey." Rick's hands gently turn him, forcing Daryl onto his back and blinking up at Rick's face, his eyes sharp and clear despite just having woken up. Rick searches his face for something Daryl can't identify, before he cocks his head and licks his lips. They look better today – less purple and more red, and the swelling has already gone down. "There's something we haven't done yet, and I think it's a cryin' shame, and I'd really like to."

Daryl frowns, but nods slowly.

One of Rick's eyebrows quirks up and he smiles, sheepish and boyish and so damn beautiful Daryl's heart seizes up.

"Kiss me?"

Daryl can't help it. He snorts. "Mornin' breath and all?" he teases, and his voice is weak and his throat is dry, but he has to joke because how else can he handle how desperately, how greatly, how _ardently_ he wants to kiss Rick? It's all he's thought about for days, _months_ , since they met.

But Rick just smiles, cupping Daryl's cheek. "Mornin' breath and all," he says back, and Daryl bites his lip and whines.

"Yeah," he breathes. "I – I want that." And he hopes Rick sees in his face just how much, because now that Rick's suggested it he feels like he's going to _die_ if they don't.

' _You'll get used to it_ '. Not fuckin' likely.

Rick leans down slowly, his hand sliding to cup the back of Daryl's head as he presses their mouths together. It's chaste and soft at first, mindful of each other's aches and bruises, but then Daryl fists his hands in Rick's hair and gasps, arching up against his Alpha, and Rick hums. His tongue licks along Daryl's lower lip, asking entrance and Daryl willingly gives it. He's lax and wanting under his mate, their breaths the only things shattering the silence.

"Rick," he whispers when Rick pulls away to breathe, and Rick growls and dives in again. It's hotter this time, harder, more urgent, and Daryl melts into it with an ease and grace he hadn't thought himself capable of. "Rick, _again_."

And Rick doesn't mock him for it – just smiles like it would make him the happiest man alive to merely lie here and kiss Daryl senseless.

"M'gonna give you the world, darlin'," he says, resting their foreheads together, and Daryl can't even find it in him to be annoyed at the nickname. It's _nice_ , and it makes him feel warm and fuck it, he's allowed to have things that make him feel like this as much as he damn well pleases. "Just you wait and see."

Daryl smiles, brushing his fingers along Rick's bitten throat. "Still mine?" he asks.

Rick leans down, kisses him hard and full of promise, of all those things Rick wanted to give him before and all the things Daryl can freely take now. "Yours, Daryl. Forever."


End file.
